Steele Tested
by RSteele82
Summary: (Canon Series) Part 2 of the Steele Tested series. Remington and Laura face the biggest challenge... and crisis... of their married life to date. When a series of events conspires to tear them apart, Laura and Remington have to rely on their skills and their faith in one another in order to overcome.
1. Chapter 1: Time for Play

**_Part 1 of the Holt Tight, My Love series._**

 ** _Picks up at the conclusion of Steele Pursued._**

 ** _For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written to date are as follows:_**

 ** _Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On_**  
 ** _Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)_**  
 ** _Steele Mending_**  
 ** _Steele Working out the Details_**  
 ** _Steele Settling In_**  
 ** _Steele Finding Comfort_**  
 ** _Steele Holting on To Christmas_**  
 ** _Steele Holting on To The Holidays_**  
 ** _Holting on to the Moments_**  
 ** _Steele Cold Relief_**  
 ** _Steele Cloned_**  
 ** _Steele Hurdling Obstacles_**  
 ** _Steeling the Big Apple_**  
 ** _Steele Dying to Get it Right_**  
 ** _Holting Steele - Part 1 of the Be Steele My Heart series_**  
 ** _Be Steele My Heart – Part 2 of the Be Steele My Heart series_**  
 ** _Steele Pursued – Part 1 of the Steele Tested series  
Steele Tested – Part 2 of the Steele Tested series_**

 ** _Standard Disclaimers apply: I hold no ownership or rights to the series or characters. I simply choose to borrow the characters I love to write._**

* * *

Steele Tested

Friday October 17, 1986

The first seven days of the month had been… trying… to say the least. So much so, that when life returned to normal it seemed almost dull by comparison. Well, in Laura's estimation, anyway. After all, her get up and go had gotten up and went about the same time the boot on her foot made its appearance. True, the orthopedist at the emergency room had referred to it as a 'walking boot' but in her opinion _he'd_ never tried to lug around the thing all day. It was fine for every day walking – get ready for work, get in the car, drive to work, drive home, get ready for bed. But to do leg work in? After a couple hours it began to feel like someone had tied a fifty-pound weight to the bottom of her leg.

Then, of course, there were the _looks_. After years of ramming her head against the wall to be seen as a professional first, and woman second, this little… inconvenience… had set all that work back nearly a decade. As soon as the boot was spied, people would all but pat her on the head in sympathy. Who was the cold, cruel man who sent the injured little woman out to do his work for him? She vowed to herself that the next person who tsk-ed their tongue at her would end up finding _that boot_ on _their toes_.

Most of the legwork had ended up being handed over to Remington, given both of 'his' employees were hobbled up at the moment. Mildred still faced a little over three more weeks in her cast after being injured by a hit-and-run driver. As for Laura? _Three days. Three days, three days, three days, three days,_ she mentally chanted. _Alright, two and half. Because that boot is not going out with Bernice and I tonight._

For the first few days that she'd handed off the legwork to Remington, she'd spent a great deal of time snickering over it. Yet, despite the number of times she'd needled him about having an 'allergy' to legwork, he'd always been quite adept at it when the occasion called on him. Over the past nine days, he'd proven that once more and she'd stopped laughing by day three. Between checking up on prior security installations and recommending improvements, overseeing new installations, working on new security layouts for new contracts, doing the Agency's legwork and still being on hand for when the infamous Remington Steele needed to make an appearance, not to mention his weekly rounds to check on Veronica and Maxie and business meetings with Monroe over their plans to extend that business into the home theater arena, her husband was burning the candle at both ends and then some.

Still, without fail, he made dinner each evening and breakfast Sunday morning, refusing to allow their personal lives to be impacted by the professional. Including – no, especially – in the bedroom, where he'd insisted there would never come a day that he'd be too tired to make love with her. It taken all of the tricks she held up her sleeve to send him to sleep without any… amorous activity… the night prior. A long hot bath with her hands soothing him, followed by a massage and quiet words, and he'd dozed off not waking until the morning.

She leaned back in her desk chair and laughed. _Tonight, he won't be so lucky,_ she thought to herself, mimicking his infamous brow waggle. As much as she enjoyed teasing him that he always had only one thing on his mind, she'd been positively itchy all day. Since that afternoon at Ashford Castle, they'd gone without making love for twenty-four hours only a handful of times, if one didn't count the times they couldn't, and each of those times had been during their stay in Greece. But forty-eight hours? _It's driving me mad,_ she admitted.

Standing, she clomped, as gracefully as she could, towards his office door.

In his office, Remington scrubbed at his face. Between system updates and new installations, he'd reviewed so many sets of blueprints in the past week and a half that they were all becoming a singular blur. It didn't help, of course, that he'd been living in a state of perpetual panic the past three days at the thought he'd miss something and the Agency would suffer for it. That worry had him reviewing schematics three and four times when normally he'd go over them once and could visualize immediately precisely what needed to be done.

He dropped his head into his hands in frustration. It wasn't easy holding the weight of your wife's hopes and dreams upon your shoulders, especially when what one wanted most – to make her happy – was at risk as well if one failed. Therefore, failing was simply not an option.

Again.

Failing… again.

Of all the barbs Laura had slung at him over the years, that was the one that had dug the deepest.

" _ **That's what I love about you, Mr. Steele. Always here when I need you."**_

Determined that he would not fail _this_ time, he reminded himself that in only a few more short days, all would return to normal. In the meantime, he'd do whatever it took to see that the Agency didn't suffer for the injuries Mildred and Laura had sustained.

Laura. _My God, do I miss our time together,_ he mourned. Their nightly ritual of stretching out on the bed and talking had taken a hike some six days back. His habit of savoring the feel of her lovely, lithe frame slung over his after she'd fallen asleep had taken flight somewhere near day four as well. They'd made love nightly, except last night, but even he had to acknowledge that the last few times had been lacking the feeling that they had all night in which to express, physically, what they meant to one another. It had been her stroking his body into sleep each evening, instead of the other way around. The way it should be, the way she deserved. _Bloody hell_ , he chastised himself.

He was so caught up in self-castigation and self-doubt, that he didn't even realize that the shared door between his office and Laura's had swung open some minutes ago or that the wife occupying his thoughts was watching him right now.

Laura's heart thumped achingly in her chest at the sight of him. Frustration had him strung tight as a bow and his tension could be seen in his shoulders, around his eyes, his mouth. That he was doing this to himself for her, and she didn't deny that fact, made it all the more difficult to see. She wanted nothing more than to see those blue eyes twinkling at her teasingly, to see that single brow lifted playfully, to see those lips quirk upwards in humor. She hadn't seen any of those things, those things that made him so uniquely Remington, in at least two days now. _Enough is enough,_ she commanded herself. _Three days will not make or break the Agency, but it may him if he keeps up this pace._

Decision made, she worked her way across the room to him and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Steele." Remington jerked his head up and quickly pasted a smile on his face.

"Ah, Miss Holt," he greeted far too jovially, "Do you have a lead for me to chase down, a report to pick up, a meeting requiring my personal attention?" She leaned her bottom against the edge of his desk, bracing her hands against it.

"None of the above, although I do have a rather crucial matter that needs to be attended to at once," she answered solemnly. His eyes flicked towards the blue prints on his desk then back at her while he tried to mask the weary look that crossed his face for a split second.

"All you have to do is ask, and I'll be at your humble service," he joked, though the teasing light in his eyes normally present was conspicuously absent. With a slight shake of her head, she slipped into his lap and threaded her fingers through his hair. Unconsciously, his head leaned into one of her hands.

"Mrs. Steele would very much like for her husband to take her home." Glancing at his watch, he looked at her in surprise.

"It's barely the noon hour, Laura," he pointed out. She nodded.

"That's very true," she agreed, slipping an arm behind him to stroke the back of his neck. "And the Agency can do without us for half a day and still survive. You, on the other hand, have been carrying most of the load for the both of us for the last week and a half, and as much as I have appreciated that, and I have, it's time to take a break." She touched her lips to his. "I miss my husband, Mr. Steele. It's time for my partner to go on hiatus until Monday." Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against hers and let out a deep, stuttering breath.

"I've missed my wife as well, Mrs. Steele. Have missed our time together, more than you can possibly know."

"That's good to know. It makes me believe you might be in agreement that an afternoon stretched out on the couch, watching a couple of movies while picking at a cheese and fruit plate is exactly what both of us need." His hand reached up to stroke her neck.

"Saving me from myself, are you?" She pursed her lips and rolled the idea around in her mind before shaking her head in the negative.

"Saving you for myself, I think. I happen to like my husband, Mr. Steele, and he's taken on far too much lately, trying to make up for the other two people in this office being unable to carry their fair share of the load." His hand stilled and his brow furrowed, unseen.

"I haven't minded." Her lips lifted upwards in a quick smile, before she turned to press them against a cheek.

"I know. And I don't think there are words enough to express how much that means to me." She leaned back to look at him, fingertips grazing against a cheek. She played the ace up her sleeve. "Take me home, sweetheart." He gathered her close at the words, his heart turning to mush at the endearment as it always did, as she knew it always did. He held her for several long minutes, before finally answering.

"Let's go home, love."

* * *

As the saying goes, 'good intentions often go awry' and they certainly did that afternoon in the Steele household. Laura's plan of couch, movies and snack took a hike somewhere around fifteen minutes into _Rope_ (James Stewart, John Dall, Farley Granger, Warner Bros., 1948). Remington's noticeable lack of commentary, failure to say Stewart's lines before Stewart himself ever spoke them, gave voice to exactly how off-kilter the last week had set him.

Lifting the hand lying against her stomach, she toyed with his ring. This, she realized, was one of the more difficult nuances of marriage. The demand, almost, to self-sacrifice in order to give your spouse what they needed. She let out a little puff of quiet laughter. _Of partnerships, as well,_ she acknowledged. Their partnership had worked so well across the years because of their differences. Ironically, all their troubles arose from those same differences. While she was of the mindset of all work with a small bit of play scattered in here and there, he was of the mindset of do no more work than necessary but play as often as possible.

That difference between their work ethics was exemplified by their individual pasts. She'd had to work hard, very hard, in order to perpetuate the existence of the imaginary Remington Steele while at the same time keeping her nose to the grindstone to solve case-after-case, in order to establish the Agency's reputation. The cases, no matter how prestigious, did not carry large dollar signs, which in turn demanded a large volume of work to pay the bills. In Remington's prior life, however, while the planning for various heists would require a considerable amount of time and attention to detail, one evening of work would net substantial rewards, financially. As she'd learned in Theoule-Sur-Mer, a single job could net a veritable financial windfall, enough to support the average man, quite lavishly, for years on end. Simply by its nature, that life allowed an inordinate amount of time for play, suiting Remington's motto of living life to its fullest to perfection.

In the days after he'd first arrived at the Agency, Remington was rarely found actually at the Agency. Oh, he'd make the command appearances assigned to him by Laura, however, reluctantly, but other than that he played hard and worked little. In a short order of time, however, his agile mind had been drawn in by the lure of the mysteries and soon he was spending more and more time at the office – on his own terms of course. On days when the mundane ruled – skip traces, paperwork, etc – he'd arrive late and leave early, but was still in the office enough to lend his presence. When he'd made the move from figurehead to her partner, his hours had extended even more, though certainly still on his own terms. Since returning from London the year before that was less and less the case. More often than not, he'd arrive close to the nine o'clock hour and stay well after the Agency had shut its doors for the day, having realized that the more he took off of her shoulders, the more time she would have to play – with him.

She'd only seen him in the state he was currently in once before: When she disappeared for weeks to train from the triathlon, dropping the running of the Agency squarely into his lap. She'd been torn between amusement and, well, shock, at the time. The former because he was clearly, thoroughly put out that she'd seemingly bailed without a single explanation, leaving him no choice but to pick up the sword and foray on, or watch the Agency suffer for it. The latter because he had so willingly done exactly that. But, rising to the challenge had taken its toll. He'd become tense and edgy, allowed his imagination to run away with him, to the point he'd wondered if Laura was dallying with another man, despite their commitment to one another.

Touching his ring to her lips, she nodded her head. The fact was, her Mr. Steele could work hard, as long as he had time enough to play as well – most notably, play with her. She held no illusions that Agency was fully her own dream, and that long ago he'd resolved he'd do whatever was necessary to make that dream a reality for her. Oh, he enjoyed most facets of their work and even the parts that he considered a mere necessity he was almost annoyingly proficient at. But, this, right now, was his dream. Hearth and home, intimacy… family. She snorted softly. _Who'd have ever thought domesticity would be the dream of the most flagrant Lothario I'd ever seen?_ But amusement aside, it was precisely that. The nights they lay before the fire, danced here in this living room, lay on their bed and talked before they went to sleep each evening – this was everything he wanted. For ten days it had been all but cast aside in order to keep the Agency running at optimal efficiency. She shook her head, wondering if they'd ever find that perfect balance between work and home.

Wiggling herself around to face him, she ran her fingertips down a cheek then along a jawline. A pair of strained, blue eyes met hers.

"'The trouble is, with me laid up like this, you haven't had enough to do.'" A smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

" _Rebecca._ Laurence Olivier, Joan Fontaine, Selznick International, 1940," he cited automatically. He sobered, picking up a strand of her hair and rubbing it between his fingers. "Look, Laura, if I've let you down—" She quickly pressed her lips to his, silencing his words.

"That's not at all what I meant," she corrected. "If anyone has let someone down around here, it's been me, you." He looked at her shocked.

"You? You can hardly help that you're injured, Laura," he disagreed.

"No, I can't. But that's not what I mean either. Our focus has been on keeping the Agency running smoothly, so much so that we've taken hardly any time at all for us. This… us… needs to be held in equal, if not more, importance." For the second time, in as many minutes, she astounded him.

" _You're_ admitting to that?" Her hand smoothed across his shoulder, down his arm.

"I happen to like my husband, Mr. Steele. I enjoy our time alone together." She flashed her dimples at him. "I might even go so far as to admit that marrying you may have been one of my better ideas." Remington quirked a brow at her.

"Unless my memory fails me, Mrs. Steele, it was I to suggest we wed."

"Only after _I_ made it clear that I was amenable to the idea."

"But only one of us had been… bouncing around… the idea of nuptials for some time." Now it was her time raise a brow.

"Oh, and who exactly would that be?" He nudged her, until she turned back to her side. He spooned his body to hers, then reached for her left hand. Holding it up, he thumbed her engagement ring.

"That answer, love, would seem fairly clear to me, hmmmm?" Laura chewed on her lip for a minute, wondering if she might finally lure the answer from him that she'd pondered many times since he'd presented her with the ring.

"How long had you been 'bouncing around' the idea, again?" He laughed quietly and nuzzled his cheek against her head.

"Ah, as I've said before, to know that might give you the upper hand. Can't have that, now can we?" He snuggled into her warm body a little more tightly.

"I'll get it out of you one of these days," she muttered under her breath.

"Perhaps I'll consider sharing that little tidbit of information with you on our silver anniversary." He yawned deeply as his fingers tangled with hers. She snorted lightly.

"Oh, I'll get it out of you before that," she mumbled to herself this time.

"You might," he answered just as quietly some seconds later, startling her as she thought he'd fallen asleep. "But then again, you might not…"


	2. Chapter 2: Girl Talk

Remington and Laura napped the afternoon away. He rose shortly after five, carefully extracting himself from around his wife's still sleeping form. Bernice Hawke, nee Fox, was in town with her husband, Jason, and Laura and Bernice had plans for hitting the town that evening. Given Laura's… wobbly… state when she'd come home from such a night in New York City, he wanted to make certain she had a solid meal on her stomach before she departed.

After splashing some water on his face and changing into a pair of khakis and a black polo, he adjourned to the kitchen. In short order he had the parmesan roasted garlic baby potatoes and roasted parmesan asparagus in the oven. Setting the timer for forty-five minutes, he pulled the lamb chops from the refrigerator. Rubbing the lamb chops down with a lemon juice, oregano and minced garlic cloves, he placed them on a plate and returned them to the refrigerator to marinate while he whipped up the yogurt mint sauce that would top the lamp chops once they were lightly browned in olive oil. The lamb chops would be ready from refrigerator-to-pan-to-table in only fifteen minutes, plenty of time to wake Laura and shove her towards the shower.

When he reached the living room, he stood watching her for a long minute. This was something he'd never imagined about her a year ago: the woman could nap all afternoon when allowed. For three years, he marveled at how little she needed to sleep, often working until nearly midnight, yet back in the office, fully rested by seven-thirty the next day. It was only when they'd begun spending the weekends together that he'd learned she'd often used those days to 'recharge her batteries' so to speak. Oh, she still rose early, but she had no qualms about stopping the day on a dime to relax with one of those romance novels she was perpetually reading or to watch one of those old television series she enjoyed so much, but in either regard, she often dozed off, not waking again until the late afternoon or early evening.

The last ten days had taken their toll on her as well as him, although she'd never admit it. Nothing tired her more quickly than boredom, and she'd been up to her ears in it. With no suspects to chase, no legwork to pursue, she'd been bound to her desk, buried in quarter end reports, tax matters, and in drawing up new security contracts. By day four, her moods had shifted so rapidly they were often difficult to predict. It hadn't helped that he was so overwhelmed by all the responsibilities plopped on his desk, that he'd not engaged her in any of their typical bantering or even managed to engage her in a walloping argument that would, in the end, burn off some of that adrenaline dying to be released.

 _My Mrs. Steele will never be an easy woman, will always require handling with care, will always challenge me, keep me on my toes… Thank God,_ he thought to himself with a quiet chuckle.

Leaning over he brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. Her long lashes fluttered up from her cheeks, and she rolled to her back, stretching.

"What time is it?"

"Closing in on six o'clock. You've time to shower before dinner's ready." She smiled and held a hand out to him. Taking it, he assisted her up, then touched his lips to hers. "It defies the mind, I know, but you may actually be ready on time for a change," he needled playfully. She tossed him a sour look on principle.

"Glass houses, Mr. Steele," she quipped, wrapping her arms around his waist. "How many times has the shoe been on the other foot and it was I waiting on you to finish getting ready?" His mouth opened and closed several times, before he responded.

"I'll neither admit to nor deny the charges as they stand, Mrs. Steele." She flashed him a smug little smile before brushing her lips against his cheek and stepping away from him towards the bedroom.

"Which doesn't make you any less guilty," she answered over her shoulder. His laughter followed her into the bedroom.

* * *

At three minutes before seven, the doorbell to the flat buzzed. Remington finished drying his hands on the dishtowel he had in hand, then slung it over shoulder. Opening the door, he peeked around the edge of it, before standing fully upright, a smile lighting his face.

"Ah, Mrs. Wolf, come in, come in."

"Hawke. It's Hawke," Bernice fairly growled.

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Wolf," he answered blithely, chuckling softly at the daggers her eyes were shooting at him. "Can I get you something to drink while you wait?"

"Let me guess: Laura's not ready yet," she laughed. Laura's perpetual tardiness when it came to personal matters was well-known amongst friends.

"Close, close," Remington hedged. It was one thing to needle his wife about her tardiness, quite another to align with others on the matter. "Laura," he called back towards the bedroom as Bernice looked around the living room, "Mrs. Wolfe has arrived."

"I'll be right out," she called back from the bathroom where she was currently muttering a string of creative curses under her breath at her uncooperative hair. After damning the hair dresser that had talked her into the bangs she'd hated the minute they were cut, she set about trying to conquer the unruly things once more.

"Wow…. Just… Wow," Bernice breathed.

Remington turned to see what had caught Bernice's attention. A smile lit his face when he realized she was admiring the wedding photo hung near their bedroom door. While Laura tended to favor of the photograph of the two of them caught in profile, hands held, eyes locked on one another as they said their vows, the picture Bernice was currently admiring was by far and away his favorite. The picture captured them on the dance floor, Laura's face in profile as she smiled up at him; his face at three-three quarters as he smiled down at her, while the back of his fingers traced a line down her nearly bare back. Her completely unguarded expression, eye sparkling, dimple flashing, a soft flush covering her skin and those glorious freckles sprinkled across her shoulders showing in all their glory. It was a moment he'd never forget, captured for eternity through a camera's eye. He'd already commissioned a studio to blow the portrait up then frame it, so it could be rehomed permanently over the fireplace in their new house.

"She's stunning, isn't she?" he asked, admiring her image now himself.

"She is," Bernice agreed absently, still studying the picture. She stole a peek at the man standing a step or two behind her, then returned her attention to the photograph. When she'd watched Remington and Laura dancing on the terrace of their suite at the Four Seasons in New York City, she'd been held spellbound by the obvious affection the two shared for one another. When she'd watched them dance at her wedding reception, she'd made the bet with Murphy that Laura and Remington would be married within the year, as it was all too apparent to anyone who paid attention that they were both in deep. But this? Their love for each other simply radiated from the picture, in how they looked at one another, their interlocked hands, and… _oh, wow,_ she thought again… in how his hand skimmed so gently down her back.

There was some satisfaction in knowing she'd been right during the intervening years from when she'd left the Agency until New York, as well. Laura had confided in her frequently over the years in matters regarding her relationship with Remington. The man had hurt her deeply, a few times: First with Anna, then in Cannes, then even later when he packed up and left. While Bernice had encouraged Laura, almost from the very beginning, to hop into the sack with the man and have her teeth rattled, it had taken her little while to realize that, like Laura, their mystery man had fallen head-over-heels for the true owner of the Agency.

Unlike Murphy, who was determined to see Remington as a ne'er-do-well who would only break Laura's heart, Bernice had started to pay attention after Creighton Phillips had come on the scene. She'd missed neither the flashes of jealousy on Remington's face at Laura's mere mention of the man nor the fact that immediately afterward, Remington's steady stream of bimbos stopped coming through the revolving door of his office. She'd taken note that the man constantly looked for reasons to keep close to Laura's side. She'd observed the subtle shift of the dynamics between the two of them, after they'd posed as man and wife during that divorce case, in how Laura had become more protective of him, in how he wasn't quite so frantic around her any longer. And after that creep Jeffries had shown on the scene. Ooh-la-la, she was left fanning herself on more than one occasion at the looks the passed between the two of them.

The morning when she'd arrived at the office only to find Sherry and Murphy, then Laura and Remington exiting the offices for the day, she was convinced that Laura was finally going to go get those teeth rattled, based on the looks passed between the two of them, the innuendo. Until, that is, Laura had tromped into the office a few hours later, all but spitting fire. Walking past Bernice's desk without so much as a hello, she'd slammed her office door with verve behind her. A couple hours had passed before Bernice, carrying two cups of coffee, dared to breech Laura's inner sanctum, only to find Laura, head in her hands, staring morosely down at her desk.

* * *

" _ **Alright, give," Bernice had demanded. After a shake of her head, Laura propped her chin in her hands and sighed deeply.**_

" _ **I couldn't close the deal," she moaned.**_

" _ **You're kidding me, right? Whyyyyy?" Laura dropped her face into her hands again.**_

" _ **I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. We were kissing and it was great." She snorted softly. "God the man knows how to kiss and he tastes so good. It was fine. No, it was wonderful. And then…" her voice trailed off in another sigh of frustration.**_

" _ **And then? Then what?" Laura pushed herself to her feet, began pacing.**_

" _ **Then he moved to my neck," her fingers trailed the side of her neck where his lips, his tongue, his teeth had been only hours before. She could still feel him there. "It felt good. So good. It's been so long and it was him and…" she trailed off again, a blush creeping across her skin.**_

" _ **Laura, and what?" Laura spun on her heel and faced Bernice, throwing her hands up in the air.**_

" _ **I froze. I… just… froze. I jumped up, said something, I'm not sure what and left. That's 'and what'!" She flopped back down in her chair and covered her face with her hands again. "Oh my God. How am I going to face him? I all but promise him we're going to go to bed together, get him all primed and ready to go and then I bail. What's wrong with me, Bernice?" she nearly wailed the question.**_

 _ **Bernice stared at her, shaking her head, mouth hanging partly open. Once she gathered her own wits, she answered, "I have no idea. You have that prime specimen of man at your fingertips…"**_

" _ **He's not a slab of meat, Bernice," Laura snapped. Her eyes widened in shock at her own response and she held up a hand in apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm just so—"**_

" _ **Oh, my God," Bernice interrupted. "I knew you liked him. But it's more than that. You're in love with the man, aren't you?" Laura peeked at her between her fingers, then covered her face again.**_

" _ **I'm not in love with him," she denied weakly. "But I could be, very easily." She dropped her hands to look at her friend. "You don't know him like I do. He's… He's… He's…" she stumbled over the words.**_

" _ **He's what? He's gorgeous and, I can't believe I'm going to say this, could charm the pants off of any woman? A great kisser, apparently, too. Seems to me it's a recipe for some really hot sex."**_

" _ **No. I mean yes. But it's more than that." She stood to pace some more. "He's kind. He has such a good heart. He's… gentle… loving even. There's times when we're alone together and he looks at me that I know we can never be just a quick romp in the sack. It wouldn't be just that for either of us…" she shook her head again, the words lost to her.**_

" _ **All the more reason to just go for it, Laura. I've seen the way he looks at you. The man's head-ov—" Laura held a hand up towards her so abruptly, that Bernice forced herself to stop speaking.**_

" _ **All the more reason not to 'just go for it.' I've been here before, Bernice, and what did I have left to show for it? A white belt, a t-shirt, and a whole bunch of broken promises. Not to mention a whole chest full of memories of how I'm too much and not enough."**_

" _ **Just because that Jeffries character was a creep doesn't mean every man is," Bernice pointed out.**_

" _ **No, not all are," Laura answered sadly, sitting back down again. She let her desolate brown eyes settle on her friend. "He'd never, I don't know – mess with my head? – like Wilson did. But he's also the same man that's never stayed in one place for more than a few months. Any day now, he could pack up and just disappear into the night. Then there I'll be. Left. Again. And if we cross that line, when he does leave, I don't know that I'll be able to pick up all the pieces that are left this time around."**_

* * *

When Jason had entered her life and almost from the start began urging her to move to New York with him, she'd hesitated. Not because of him, but because of the woman in the next room who was still muttering to herself. In the two years she'd been with the Agency, she'd become very protective of the younger woman. As strong as she was, there was a part of her that was extremely fragile that she protected with a ferocity that drove away nearly anyone that tried to draw close to her. She'd worried, at first, about leaving Laura alone with Murphy and their mystery man – Murphy who was always trying to surround Laura in a safety net of his own, preventing her from facing her demons, and the man that might walk away at any moment, leaving her broken. It was only when she realized that Laura was using both herself and Murphy as a buffer between she and Remington, and, that the man standing behind her right now would sooner wear off the rack clothing than hurt Laura, that she'd made up her mind.

She'd left. And over the years, she'd become Laura's personal 'Dear Abby' and somehow, in the process, Remington's biggest champion. As the years passed, she'd reminded Laura constantly, 'Look, it's been a year… two years… three years… four years… and he's still here. You've drawn him close only to shove him away, and he stayed. You've flirted with other men, and he's stayed. Hell, you left him for Westfield, and even though he left, he came back the second you made it clear you wanted him near. Face it, Laura, the man's not going anywhere. Go for it.'

She turned and smiled at the man that had been the focus of so many conversations between she and Laura. "That must have been some wedding," she commented, while moving towards the entry way table to pick up the picture of them at the altar there.

"It was," he agreed, simply.

"I have to say, Mr. Steele—"

"Remington," he corrected. Bernice's eyebrows raised and her lips twitched with laughter.

"And here I thought you went by 'Remy'." She laughed opening when Remington closed his eyes and openly grimaced at the appellation. "Maybe I should call you by that instead."

"Not if you wish for me to answer."

"All the better."

"It was my understanding you preferred… Skeeziks, isn't it?" He had the satisfaction of watching Bernice's jaw drop.

"Laura _told_ you?" She briefly considered telling every man at whatever bar they ended up in that Laura was a recently separated woman, desperately seeking a one-night stand. Remington laughed at her reaction.

"Actually, you did. Your message on the answering machine…" She wrinkled her nose.

"Damn, I didn't realize I'd done that," she mumbled under her breath.

"A secret was it?" Bernice laughed at the idea.

"More like I was afraid if you knew I'd dubbed you with a nickname, that you'd be under the misguided notion that it was an expression of affection."

"Ah, I see. Never fear, Mrs. Wolf, I've never doubted your affection for me."

"I never said that—"

"It's always been abundantly clear, as a matter of fact."

"It has not," she denied.

"The way you'd follow me about, making sure my every need was met—"

"Laura!" she yelled.

"Always so fast each morning with a warm greeting—"

"Laura! You'd better get out here, before I kill him," she called again.

"The way you offered to boil me some water when first we met—"

"I mean it, Laura. You're going to be a widow on the count of three. One—"

"Your comments about my attire—"

"Two-"

"Mr. Steele, you'd better behave yourself," Laura laughed as she came into the room. "I believe I was just saying this afternoon that I'm rather fond of marriage."

"Mrs. Wolf was just elaborating on her great affection for me," Remington smirked.

"I'm going to kill him, Laura," Bernice growled.

"I'd really hate to have to find myself a new husband so quickly," she deadpanned. Remington's head snapped in her direction.

"You're not playing fair, Mrs. Steele," he groused, as pictures of Laura with any number of potential new spouses meandered through his head.

"I never do, Mr. Steele," she pointed out, as she threaded her earing through the hole in her lobe. "Would you mind zipping me up?" she asked, turning her back to him. His fingers slid the zipper up by rote. Bussing her on the shoulder, he stepped back to take a look at her. His eyes skimmed appreciatively over her slim form, and the sleeveless, red number that hugged her gentle curves before ending sharply at mid-thigh, highlighting the legs he adored. He took in the opaque, white silk stocking, that he knew, without peeking, ended only shortly higher than the dress, and traveled downwards to the pair of red stiletto heels adorning her feet. He gave a low whistle.

"You look absolutely stunning," he complimented. Then scowled. "Perhaps overly so." His eyes quickly skimmed her length again then stalled on her feet. "Where's your boot, Laura?"

"In the closet where it's going to stay," she answered lightly, while handing him her white London Fog jacket. He raised a brow at it. "It's still drizzling and the low is in the 40's tonight," she reminded him, before turning to Bernice. "Sorry I'm running behind. It's these bangs the hair dresser talked me into. Their finally growing out, but never want to do anything." Remington hadn't moved, still holding her coat. "My coat?"

"Not until you put the boot on. You heard what the doctor said." She frowned at him for good measure, even though she'd anticipated them having exactly this argument.

"Remington, we can stand here and argue about this. I can go in and put that boot on. Then when I get to the car, I'll simply take it off, toss it in the back seat and put on the heels I have already waiting in the Rabbit for me." She gave him a smug little smile, that earned her a glare. "Or, you can recognize that there is no way in hell I'm going dancing in that boot and help me with my coat."

Bernice watched with amusement as Remington considered his options. He realized that even if he went down to the Rabbit and seized the shoes that were allegedly stashed there, she'd simply stop and buy a new pair of heels, no matter how much she loathed shopping. If, however, she was bluffing, and he suspected she was… _Bloody hell, she'll still just go out and buy another pair of shoes._ He huffed a disgruntled little grunt and held the coat out for her. Lifting her hair out from under the collar once she had it on, he bussed her on the neck. Turning around, she ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders before wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms circled her waist.

"Now, 'Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time'," she requested softly.

"That I can do," he said, leaning in and giving her a steamy little kiss that left her eyes dazed and her body wanting more, far more.

Behind them, Bernice sighed. "Ingrid Bergman to Humphrey Bogart, _Casablanca,_ Warner Bros., 1942," Bernice recited, a bit breathily.

"Very good, Mrs. Wolf," Remington told her approvingly.

"Hawke," she bit out, then sighed deeply. "Oh, never mind."

"I knew you'd come 'round to my way of thinking eventually," he told her, pressing his luck.

"Laura," Bernice growled in warning.

Laughing, Laura drew a single finger down her husband's torso from neck to waist, drawing his attention back to her. "Have fun at your poker game tonight." Over dinner she'd convinced him he needed some well-earned downtime of his own and he'd finally agreed to stop by Monroe's for the bi-weekly poker game.

"Mmm," he hummed, "I imagine taking all their hard earned money should keep me occupied for a little while, but I should still make it home before yourself." She smiled, having no doubt that he'd make certain he was just that, on the chance that she arrived home in a condition similar to the one after Bernice's bachelorette party. Giving him a jaunty little wave goodbye, she followed Bernice out into the hallway and to the elevator. Once the doors slid shut behind them, Bernice burst out laughing.

"I've got to give you credit, Laura. No one can handle the man quite like you," she told her approvingly.

"Years of practice," she laughed, "and he'll still come out on top here and there."

"That bit with the shoes though? Do you really have a spare pair in the car?"

"No," she admitted with a grin. "I would have if I'd thought of it, though."

"Do you think he knew that?" Laura nodded her head, giggling with mirth.

"Suspected, at the very least." Bernice looked at her, confused.

"Then why didn't he call you on it?" Laura wagged her brows at her friend.

"Because he knew I'd just go out and buy a new pair of shoes."

Their laughter followed them out of the elevator, through the lobby of the Rossmore and out the door.

* * *

Laura and Bernice left the dance floor, wobbling somewhat and laughing a lot. Returning to their table, Bernice held up a hand to indicate another round of drinks. A half dozen Sex on the Beaches coupled with several jello shots had both women relaxed and more than tipsy.

"Alright, give," Bernice panted, still trying to catch her breath from her exertion on the dance floor. "After four years of listening to you worry about whether you should or shouldn't, I want the details and I want them now," she demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Laura answered, trying to affect a prim countenance, then snorting when she couldn't hold the laughter back.

"Uh uh," Bernice wagged a finger at her, "I want it all. When did _it_ finally happen? How did you end up getting married in Europe? How did he propose?" She paused and made a funny little face, remember this was Laura, 'Miss Independent Woman', she was speaking to. "Or did you propose? I want to know all about those ridiculously gorgeous rings you have on your fingers. Did he rattle your teeth?" Laura giggled at the last, while contemplating if she wished to share their private life and if so how much of it. _The hell with it,_ she concluded. _As Bernice said, she's earned it._

"Well, _it_ happened, at our castle in Ireland—"

"Huh? I know I've had maybe a little too much to drink, but I thought you said your castle in Ireland."

"I did. So _it—"_

"No, no. Go back. How do you _have_ a _castle_ in Ireland?"

"While we were in London on a case, a solicitor contacted Remington to inform him that the Earl of Claridge had bequeathed him Ashford Castle." Bernice simply stared at her, slack jawed. "In Ireland." Bernice shook her head, trying to clear it.

"Why would he do that?" she asked, befuddled.

"Why would he do what?" Laura's own liquor depressed mind struggled to follow.

"Why would an Earl give Skeeziks a castle?"

"Oh, that. The Earl thought Remington was his son for a short period of time, and in his will said he always felt he had a strong bond with Remington. So he left him a castle."

"A real castle?" Bernice was trying to digest this piece of news.

"Mmmmm, very much so," Laura confirmed, then waited to continue until the waiter delivering their drinks disappeared. Knocking back the shot, she carried on. "So _it—"_

"Wait, wait. Tell me Skeeziks isn't, like, royalty," Bernice moaned. Laura tilted her head in thought.

"I don't know, honestly. I know in Ireland we're now referred to as the Lord and Lady Steele," she shrugged.

"Laura, if he tries to get me to call him Lord Steele, I swear, I'll brain him," Bernice warned.

"Just be sure to curtsy before you do." Laura giggled again at Bernice's horrified expression. "I'm just kidding – about the curtsying, not the Lord and Lady part," she clarified. "Now if you don't stop interrupting, we won't get to the good stuff."

"Oooooh, the good stuff. Let's get to the good stuff."

"So, _it_ happened at our castle—"

"Did he rattle your teeth?" Bernice asked eagerly. Laura laughed again and shook her head in exasperation.

"Rattling teeth wouldn't even begin to describe it," she answered, looking up through her lashes coyly at her friend.

"Then what would?" Laura pursed her lips and thought about it.

"He sees my body as a smorgasbord to be feasted upon…" Crinkling her nose, she shook her head. "No, that's not right. He's sees my body as a blank canvas, and every square inch of it needs a stroke of color…" She shook her again. "No, that's not right either." Her face lit up. "Let's just say, he treats making love as a great concerto and unless I… crescendo… multiple times throughout a performance, he feels he failed to perform a masterpiece worthy of recognition." Bernice groaned.

"I think I might hate you a little right now. At least toss me a bone and tell me not _every time_ ," she pleaded. Laura smirked at her, making her groan in envy again. "Then I guess his… instrument… is fit for the job?" Laura threw back her head and laughed, even as she turned five shades of pink.

"I'm not going to discuss Remington's significant assets with you. He'd be mortified," Laura told her primly, then blushed even deeper realizing she'd done just that. Bernice groaned again.

"I am definitely hating you right now," she sulked, while raising her hand for another round of shots. "Before our friendship is shredded beyond repair… the proposal. Who? How? Where?"

"Who: Him. Where: at a restaurant in Cannes while we were staying at our villa in Theoule-sur-Mer. How: On the dance floor," she summarized. She watched as Bernice became slack jawed again.

"I know I shouldn't ask, but I'm going to anyway. Your villa in… where?"

"Theoule-sur-Mer, in the south of France." Bernice began to nod her understanding then shook her head instead.

"In the south of France. But _your_ villa?"

"Mmmm hmmm. Remington inherited it from Daniel when he died." Bernice frowned.

"Whose Daniel?"

"Daniel Chalmers. Don't you remember? The sting we pulled off shortly before you left? Hoskins? The gambling boat? Colonel Reginald Frobish? _Dating my mother?_ " At the last, Bernice's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Oh yeah, the old guy that taught Skeeziks to be a cheat and a sneak." Laura nodded her acknowledgement. "Why would he leave Skeeziks anything?" Laura flicked her wrist.

"Because Daniel was Remington's father."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," Bernice nodded understanding, then shook her head again. "Wait. Huh? What? The old guy is his father? Why didn't I know that?"

"Because Remington didn't even know until right before Daniel died."

"How could he not know?" Laura rolled her eyes, growing frustrated.

"Remington never knew who his parents were, only that his mother died in childbirth and his father disappeared. He spent his childhood being passed between families, until he ran away when he was ten."

"I see. Well, no I don't, but I don't think my mind can handle that story right now." Bernice straightened in her seat, suddenly very animated. "So, if the old guy was his father, it means you know what Skeezik's real name is. What is it?"

"Remington Chalmers Steele." Bernice harrumphed and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Laura, I've had too much to drink to try to trick you into telling me. So give, what's his real name?"

"Remington Chalmers Steele." Bernice groaned loudly now.

"Lauraaaaaaa…" Laura could only shrug his shoulders.

"He never knew his real name. It was changed with every new family he lived with. When we found his birth certificate in Ireland it didn't have a name on it either, and since Daniel died before he could tell him…" she trailed off, gathering her thoughts. "He's seen himself as Remington Steele for years, it's who he is. It's the only name he's ever tried to make solely his own. His birth certificate was amended to show exactly that." Bernice's eyes nearly crossed at all the information Laura had just given her. With another shake of her head to clear it, she turned the direction of the conversation again.

"Okay, so proposal: him, restaurant, on dance floor. Ring one?" Bernice asked tapping Laura's engagement ring.

"Remington had it made for me some time last fall. That's all I know. He says if I know any more than that, I might get the upper hand," she laughed.

"You're going let him get away with that?" Laura snorted softly.

"Of course not. I'll get it out of him one of these days."

"Wedding. Where?"

"Oia, Greece, at his family's home."

"His mother's side or Chalmer's side?"

"Neither." Laura giggled again at Bernice's look of dismay.

"I shouldn't ask… I shouldn't ask… I shouldn't ask. Oh, hell. Then how are they family?"

"Marcos found Remington stowed away on his ship when Remington was around eleven years old. Marcos and Elena took him in, raised him like one of their own children, until Remington ran away when he was twelve."

"If they were good to him, why did he run?"

"The family ran into some misfortune and he believed he'd be a burden to them." Bernice just shook her head, then tapped Laura's wedding band.

"And that gorgeous wedding band. Did Skeeziks have it made for you too?"

"No, it's a family heirloom, passed down in Marcos's family for hundreds of years, to be given only to a couple that share a 'great love'." Bernice sighed again.

"Back to hating you, Laura..." she warned.

"I could _really_ make you hate me," she laughed. "They're both engraved."

"Oh, God," Bernice lamented. "Should I ask?"

"They both read the same: 'Agapi Mou, Zoi Mou.'"

"Let me guess: Greek?"

"Mmmm hmmmm."

"And what does it mean?" Laura bit her lip, staring down at her ring and fingering it.

"'My love, my life.'" Bernice all but growled this time.

"Hating you. Definitely hating you. Jason will be lucky if he doesn't hear my thoughts on my plain jane, unengraved, boring wedding ring now." Laura simply smirked at her. "Now, for the most important question, although I think I saw the answer back at your apartment: Are you happy, Laura?"

"I never imagined I could be this happy, Bernice. Honestly. There are still nights where I dream this was nothing more than just that: a dream. When I wake up, I feel like… like… someone or something has taken the most important part of me away." She sighed. "I know, I'm being sappy. But honestly, I never knew I could love anyone as much as I do him and even more than that, I never thought anyone would love me as completely as he does."

Bernice squeezed her hand, then then held up her glass in a toast.

"It's about damned time." Laura burst out in to laughter.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, tapping her glass to Bernice's. "Now, after I give Fred a call, how about we take one more turn on that dance floor before we leave?"

"Fred?"

"Our chauffer. I'm in nooooooooooo condition to drive and neither are you," Laura giggled.

"Well, I've ended evenings like this in worse ways than being driven home in a chauffeured limousine," Bernice drawled. "That's one thing to say about marriage: no more walks of shame."

Laura burst out laughing again, then grabbing Bernice by the hand, drug her towards the payphone near the women's room to call Fred.


	3. Chapter 3: What Comes After

_**This chapter contains NC-17 content. If uncomfortable with the subject matter or under the age of 18, please continue on to the next chapter.**_

* * *

Remington was lounging on the terrace, a short glass of scotch on the rocks in hand, when Laura arrived home. He heard her – boy, did he hear her – before he saw her, as she searched the apartment looking for him while belting out the Rolling Stones _I Can't Get No Satisfaction._ He was instantly transported back in time to when Laura had arrived in what sounded like similar shape, singing the same song, nearly four years before during the Marcal case. Rising from his chair, he went to seek out his errant wife.

She found him on the terrace before he'd taken two steps towards the doors. He chuckled as he watched her sway on her feet, all the while raking her eyes up and down his body with a lusty smile on her lips.

"There you are, Rem," Laura purred, in full siren mode. "I have a little something for you."

"Do you now?" he asked laughingly, grabbing at her arm as she tilted dangerously to the right. Holding her steady, he kneeled down in front of her, to slip her heels off her feet before she did further damage to her injured ankle.

"Something very little," she answered, as he slipped her first heel off and she tilted again.

"Steady there, love," he warned, reaching for her second foot, only to stare, stunned, when Laura's dress dropped at her feet. Slowly raising his eyes, his entire body quaked when he saw her standing there in a red, lace bustier that left nothing to the imagination, a scrap of matching red lace for panties, a pair of garters and sheer, white stockings.

"Do you like?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stood, her lips seeking the area under his ear that drove him wild when she did exactly what she was doing right now.

"Do you have to ask?" he breathed, as his hands traced the curve of her waist and hips. Her small hand reached between them, and slipped under the waistband of his silk loungers to run along his already hardening length.

"No, I don't think that I do," she laughed throatily, then pressed up on her toes to kiss him. She fairly ravaged his mouth, and when her tongue flicked against his lips asking for him to open to her, he groaned deep in his throat, but acquiesced. His hand found the back of her head, and pressed against it, sealing their mouths more tightly together. He broke the kiss first, breathing heavily.

"Christ, Laura," he panted, "I don't know that this is either the time or place for what you seem to have in mind." His eyes rolled back in his head when her mouth found the skin of his collarbone and began to suckle, while her hand raked through the hair on his chest to toy with a flat nipple.

"Because I've been drinking?" she asked against his skin, before drawing his skin back into her mouth and suckling more firmly.

"Well, yes, in part," he admitted, moaning anew when she marked him. Helpless to stop it, a hand roamed over her shapely, barely covered little bottom.

"Would it help to know I've been thinking since I got up this morning about how much I wanted to feel your hands on me, to feel you inside of me, taking me hard and fast?" she whispered, the tip of her tongue tracing the length of a shoulder.

"Oh God," he groaned. "Babe, here?" He forced the words past his lips, before his hands grasped the side of her head, and drew her lips up to his. He plundered hungrily, only ending the kiss when a hand slipped underneath his waistband again, to massage a firm cheek.

"Here," she murmured, as her lips trailed down the length of his neck. "The terrace lights are out, as are the living room lights. No one will see." Both hands grasped the waist of his pants now, shoving them and his briefs over his hips, and letting them drop to the ground. Her hand quickly found his length, then, wrapping around its base, open and closed several times, before skimming up it, so a thumb could swirl over the tip.

With a loud groan of surrender, he gave a hard yank on her panties, tearing the fabric. Tossing them aside, a quick swipe of his finger along her core found her wet and more than ready for him. Grabbing the cheeks of her bottom he lifted her and pressed her against the wall, then plunged into her sheath as her arms and legs wrapped around him. She cried out his name at the sheer pleasure of feeling him within her. Her hips met his thrust-for-thrust, as their lips sought and found each other. He took her hard and fast to the precipice. Her hands slapped against the wall she broke, her body tremoring almost violently at the strength of her climax, moaning into his mouth. Her orgasm drew him high and tight within her, taking him over the edge. He pressed his face into her neck, calling out her name.

He held her, pressed against the wall, her legs still wrapped around him for several minutes, reveling in the feel of her hands wandering over his back and shoulders in the aftermath. Only when his legs began to protest, did he swing her fully into his arms and carry her through the bedroom into their bathroom. Sitting her down on the edge of the tub, he reached into the shower and turned it on. Rummaging through the medicine cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin and shook four tablets into her hand. Filling a glass of water, he handed it to her.

"Drink up, love," he ordered. She snickered, but did as she was told.

"Trying to sober me up, Rem?" she asked, reaching up to lightly scrape her nails over his belly.

"I am."

"You don't have to do this," she insisted, her hand moving lower. He caught her hand before it could reach its target.

"It's for purely selfish reasons, I assure you, love," he told her. Kneeling down, he rolled one stocking, then the other down her legs.

"It is?" she asked, puzzled. He nodded as he helped her stand.

"Mmmmm," he hummed. "I want you sober, so I can make love to you properly." Stripping her of the bustier, he handed her into the shower and followed behind her. She shrieked when the water hit her, then tried to clamor out from under its spray. He could only chuckle as he grasped her by the waist and held her firmly under it.

"It's cold," she whined.

"It's not cold, love, just not scalding hot as you prefer. I want you sober, not asleep." She glowered at him, earning another chuckle. Picking up the wash cloth, he wet it and lathered it with soap, then began washing her down.

"I'm perfectly capable of washing myself," she groused, even as she swayed. His hands quickly gripped her waist again until she found her footing.

"I think that may be up for debate at the moment," he observed, raising both of his brows at her. She merely scrunched her nose at him in reply. Reaching for the shampoo, he quickly worked it through her hair, followed by her crème rinse. Keeping her under the spray of the water for a couple more minutes for good measure, he finally handed her out of the shower. Once they were both dried and dressed – he in pajama bottoms, she in his top - he tugged her towards the kitchen, stopping when he heard her utter a mild oath under her breath. Falling behind her intentionally, he watched as she favored her left foot.

"Laura…" he drawled, sweeping her back up off of her feet. "Over did it, did you?"

"I'm fine," she boldly lied, yet didn't insist he put her down.

"Of course you are," he agreed lightly, then muttered under his breath, "Stubborn woman." She smacked his shoulder.

"I heard that."

"Perhaps I intended for you to," he pointed out, sitting her down on the counter of the island. He merely rolled his eyes when she scowled at him, then turned to the refrigerator and began pulling out bread, turkey, Havarti cheese, lettuce, tomato and tarragon sauce. In short order, he handed her the plate, before picking her up and carrying her to the living room, sitting her on the couch. "Eat," he ordered, then returned to the kitchen to make her a cup of coffee. When he returned, she glowered at him again for good measure, but he counted that she'd eaten half her sandwich a good sign. Setting the cup down in front of her, he put a tape in the VCR before seating himself next to her.

"Coffee?" she inquired. "I'll never get to sleep tonight."

"Good thing tomorrow's Saturday then, eh, and you can sleep in," he pointed out mildly, before hitting the play button on the VCR. Laura looked at him in surprise when the opening for _The Fugitive_ began playing on the widescreen TV. "Peace offering?" he suggested.

"I wasn't aware we were at war," she commented, picking up her cup of coffee and nestling into his side.

"Not at war, perhaps, but a certain wife has been a bit testy with a certain husband for the last half hour or so," he noted, wrapping an arm around her.

"I don't like cold showers," she sniffed, indignantly.

"Not cold, tepid," he corrected. "Given the hundreds of cold showers I've taken over the last years because of a certain young woman, I'm fairly certain I know the difference." She snorted with amusement. "Still finding enjoyment in my pain, I see." Rising from where he sat, he moved to the other end of the couch. She frowned at the action.

"I don't think I've been _that_ difficult," she grumbled in complaint.

"Not at all," he agreed. "Come on, give me the foot." Resting her back against the arm rest of the couch, she stretched out her leg, placing her foot in his hand.

"You're doing it again," she observed. His eyes flicked to her face before returning to her foot.

"Doing what?"

"Taking care of me. First, sobering me up, now my ankle." He nodded.

"Seems that I am, although I believe I already told you the former is for purely selfish reasons." She hummed, thinking that over. "Did you have a good time tonight, love?"

"I did," she answered with a smile. "I've missed Bernice, and I always enjoy a night of dancing. There's something just so…" she pursed her lips and searched for the word "…freeing about it." He considered her at length before speaking.

"Have you been feeling boxed in of late?"

"Not at all," she laughed. "I meant that the dance floor is the one place I've never had to worry about image, rules, expectations. I can simply enjoy the music, the beat, the movement." She closed her eyes as she felt some of soreness in her heel give way. "That feels wonderful, Remington."

"I've had quite a bit of practice. Seems every time you go out on the town with Bernice you come back with and assortment of aches and pains," he teased.

"How was your evening?"

"Profitable, while it lasted," he gave a careless shrug of his shoulders.

"You left before the game was over?"

"Mmmmm, I did."

"For any reason in particular?" He flashed her a grin, then returned his attention to her foot.

"Could be," he answered vaguely.

"And that might be?" she prodded. He raised a brow at her in answer, then patting her foot on the sole, laid it down before stretching out in the corner of the couch and propping his feet on the coffee table. "Mr. Steele?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was tired?"

"Given our nap this afternoon? Not a chance," she answered lightly, a smile playing on her lips. "You were worried about me," she accused, nodding her head as though to confirm her words for him.

" _If,_ and let me emphasize the _if_ , Mrs. Steele, that was the case, do you honestly believe I'd risk what would surely be a remarkable display of temper by insinuating you'd need assistance of any kind?" His blue eyes twinkled with laughter, though he remained remarkably straight faced. Shaking her head, Laura scooted down the couch to lay her head on his lap before taking his hand in hers to trace his palm with a finger. Closing his eyes, he settled in for the nightly routine they both cherished.

"You were worried about me," she repeated, tilting her head back to look at him.

"Pffffftttt, I never said any such thing. If you must know, I was merely honoring my vows—"

"To love, honor and sober up your drunk wife?" she offered.

"Perhaps something along those lines, although, again, I admit to nothing." He wagged his brows at her playfully. A thought flitted across his mind, and he frowned down at her. "Laura, how _did_ you get home?"

"Fred. We'll have to pick up my car from the bar tomorrow." He hummed his acknowledgment.

"Tell me about your night, love," he requested as his fingers threaded through her hair. She shrugged against his leg.

"There's not much to tell really. Drinks, dancing, catching up." The fingers stroking her hair paused for several seconds before resuming their motions.

"Does she know the whole of it then?" Now it was her finger that paused at the tension in his voice. Bending her head backwards again to look at him, her brows furrowed questioningly.

"The whole of what?"

"The INS's arrival in our lives," he swallowed hard, "My…" he lifted his hands to rub them up and down his face in frustration "Bloody hell, what I did," he spit out. Her finger resumed tracing his palm and fingers.

"What we both did," she amended quietly. "But, no, I didn't tell her. What happened then, the mistakes we _both_ made, is between the two of us. Unless there is good cause for sharing the details of that time, like gaining Meyerson's help with the INS, it's between the two of us and, as far as I'm concerned, not for public knowledge." Remington swiped at his face.

"I'm sorry—" Laura pressed her lips to the palm of his hand.

"I thought we had agreed that we'd put what happened to bed, so to speak, but it seems what I told you in Greece bears saying again. If not for everything that occurred during that time, I don't think we would have this…" she flicked her hand towards the room. "Would we have turned the corner to lovers? Yes, that was inevitable. We'd worked hard to get to that point over the last year. But marriage?" She laughed softly. "I don't know that either of us would have ever taken the risk, admitted that this is where we saw ourselves, what we wanted for ourselves. It's not the first time we've had to come close to losing everything in order for us to get over our fears, to move forward." She tilted her head back to look at him. "Buckner's men beating you; Westfield and London, come to mind." He released a quiet puff of air, nodding. She smiled softly at him, before returning her focus to his hand. "The INS, Clarissa, our sham marriage, Keyes, Roselli, Shannon… Daniel. It was a maelstrom that left us with only two choices: give up and walk away, or get over ourselves, our fears, and claim what we were too afraid to otherwise."

"'It's hard to be afraid of getting married, when we're already married', eh?" he asked on a low laugh, echoing her words in Greece back at her. Releasing his hand, she sat up, and curled herself into his side. Laying her head on his shoulder, her hand stroked his side rhythmically.

"I'm not proud of some of the decisions we both made, during that time, but even at our worse, in many ways we were still at our best," she said thoughtfully. He bent his head to look at her, giving her a queer look.

"How is that?"

"As angry as I was about Clarissa, your failure to come to me when the INS showed up, there was still not a chance in hell I'd let you be convicted of Keyes murder. You put your life on the line going to Paddington Station, bending to Roselli's blackmail, in order to keep us both safe from the possible repercussions of Shannon's statement coming to light. Not to mention, together we made the decision to cross the line into the bedroom, despite both our fears of not knowing 'what comes after that magical moment.'"

"I guess we know now what comes, don't we?" he asked, settling more firmly behind her and nuzzling her head with his cheek. She nodded, then fell silent, her hand continuing its soothing movement on his side.

"Rem?" she asked after more than a minute had passed.

"What _did_ you think would happen after we…" He tilted his head to look at her, raising a single brow with amusement. _Ahhhh, hello shy Miss Holt, it's been a while._

"Tripped the light fantastic?" he provided.

"Yes." His fingers trailed along her cheek, then down an arm.

"Precisely what did." She frowned slightly at the nearly non-answer.

"And what was that?" He scrubbed a hand at his mouth. Despite the fact that all the barriers between them had come down months back, it remained new territory opening up fully… especially when it seemed old thoughts were accompanied by memories of old fears that were vivid enough to seem as though they still held risk. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"I'd suspected for quite some time that once we made love, I'd want it all. You, marriage, hearth and home… a family. Once I'd made you mine, I knew there wasn't a chance in hell I'd ever be able to let you go. If you'd run again… if you hadn't wanted the same… I didn't know if I could bear the loss once I'd come so close to having all of you." He bussed her on the head, even as he tried to calm his heart that had begun pounding as he spoke. Laura's hand shifted to lay precisely in that spot, and she felt the increase in its beat. The tips of her finger scraped lightly there, trying to soothe. "And for you?" he dared to ask. Now it was her turn to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You weren't wrong when you said once that Felicia had gotten into my head. Daniel too. My past. Your past. I knew I couldn't make love to you and keep up all the walls protecting my heart from you. You'd have all of me. Heart…" she laughed, a bit embarrassed at the next "…soul. If you'd left… after… I didn't know if I'd be able to pick up the pieces and put them back together this time." She plucked lightly at the hairs on his chest, thinking. "But, if I'm completely honest with myself? I think I knew you'd want it all: me, marriage, hearth and home… a family. And that scared me even more than you leaving."

"Why is that?" he queried softly, his fingers finding her hair to toy with a curl.

"Because I knew as much as you craved intimacy, closeness… family… that you would excel at it all." She scrunched her face before making the next admission. "And that I might not."

"Echoes of Abigail and Wilson?" She wriggled a little closer to him.

"And Frances and the girls of four east to some extent." She yawned deeply, before continuing. "I've spent my entire life rebelling against what Mother expected… even demanded… of me. I played baseball instead of learning how to bake cookies at her side; I took extra sciences and maths in high school instead of home economics." She laughed softly. "I became a private investigator instead of a dental hygienist." Remington chuckled softly, while his hand stroked her arm. "Marriage, family? It's just another way to fail in so many ways, in the eyes of so many people."

"Hold that thought, love," he told her, slipping out from under her then standing up and stretching. Leaning over, he picked her up.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking," she reminded him.

"How about if I agree you're perfectly able to do just that, then we both agree that rather than trying to coddle you, I'm simply attempting a bit of romance here, eh?"

Pursing her lips, she shifted them to the side in thought then relaxed against him. It seemed rather silly to argue the point when they were both more than aware she'd overdone it that evening. Sitting her on the bed, he waited until she scooted under sheets and comforter, then slipped in next to her. Stretching out, he turned off the bedside lamp then held open an arm for her and waited for her to settle.

"Fail how?"

"Do you remember what you asked me after the fiasco with Wally and Dancer?" He searched his brain, then shifted uncomfortably, knowing what was coming.

"I do."

"I've thought a lot about it since you brought it up," she began as Remington winced unseen. _Of course you have,_ he thought, mentally popping himself in the back of his head. "I can't imagine doing anything other than what I do. I love my job, everything about it. I don't want to be June and Ward Cleaver, him going off to work, her staying home to take care of the kids, to keep the house. I want to be Nick and Nora." He grinned then bussed the top her head at her reference to husband and wife detective team from _The Thin Man_ series.

"I don't expect you to give anything up, Laura," he assured her quietly.

"But you asked—"

"Poorly worded, I assure you" he interrupted. "I couldn't very well come right out and ask you if you wanted children, preferably mine, one day. Even though we were doing very well at that point, I'd have bet heavily on you running hard and fast at the mere question." Yawning again, she mulled what he said, the nodded in agreement against his chest.

"You're may be right," she agreed, then laughed softly herself. "Although you may well have packed some bags of your own and gone off in search of the most remote corner of the earth at my answer, had you posed the question." She sighed softly, and he knew she'd drifted off to sleep.

"I think you might be surprised in that regard," he whispered against her hair.

Lamenting, briefly, the lost opportunity to truly make love to her on the evening, he drew her closer and fell asleep, content, with her warm body wrapped around his.

(TBC)


	4. Chapter 4: Moments

_Day One_

 _Saturday, October 18, 1986_

The trill of the phone on the bedside table jolted Remington awake. Glancing at the alarm clock, he muttered a soft oath under his breath, wondering who would be calling shortly before nine o'clock on a weekend morning. He reached over Laura, who was spooned into his body and beginning to rouse herself at the phone's untimely interruption, and picked up the receiver.

"Steele, here," he mumbled, voice raspy from sleep.

"Steele, is Laura nearby?" the voice on the other end of the line asked. It took Remington a long second to identify the voice.

"I'd certainly hope so, given the time of day," Remington muttered. "Problem getting into the loft?"

"No. No problem. Listen, Steele, whoever it is you allowed to stay here before us…" Murphy looked around the room, "…was nothing short of slovenly. If it was a client, I'd add a hefty charge to your fee."

"Someone's been in the loft?" Remington asked, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

"Living here by the looks of it. You didn't know?"

"I've no idea what you're speaking of. I was just there not ten days ago and nothing was amiss."

"You or Laura might want to come over and take a look for yourselves, then." Remington swiped a hand across his mouth.

"Was the door secure?"

Murphy was already a step ahead of him, examining the padlock. "It was. But by the looks of it, the lock's been picked… often."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I'll be there within the half hour." Hanging up the phone, he rolled out of bed, heading for the closet.

"What about the loft?" Laura asked, sitting up in bed, threading her fingers through her hair and giving it a shake.

"According to Michaels it appears someone's been making use of it," he provided, while stripping off his pajama bottoms and slipping into a pair of jeans. He turned around to find her already pulling his pajama top over her head while crossing the room towards her dresser.

"Any damage?" she asked, slipping on a bra then moving towards their closet.

"Not that Michael's mentioned, other than, it seems, a great deal of filth." He pulled a t-shirt over his head, before yanking a pair of socks out of his drawer. "Uh, Laura…" Taking a sleeveless blouse off a hanger, she turned to look at him. "Don't we have guests arriving for brunch at eleven?" She groaned softly.

"We do," she confirmed, as she slipped on the blouse and began buttoning it. "I'll go to the loft and you can get everything ready," she suggested.

"Do you really want me entertaining Mrs. Wolf?" She recalled the evening before and groaned anew. Without her there to intervene, Bernice might strangle her husband before she arrived home.

"Couldn't you manage not to needle her just for a little while." He raised a brow, drawing a sigh from her. Slipping on a pair of shorts, she muttered, "Of course not." With a huff of exasperation, she accepted she only had one choice. "Fine, you go to the loft. Make sure you write down anything that's been damaged for the insurance company. There's a camera-"

"In the kitchen drawer," he filled in.

"Take pictures of anything out of the normal, then—"

"Call the police," he finished for her again. He watched as she shimmied into a pair of white linen shorts while he tied his tennis shoe, once again regretting missed opportunities. "Claude will have the food delivered ten before the hour. Not much to getting it ready. I kept it simple since we're all meeting at L'Ornate for dinner before enjoying the New York City Ballet at the Segerstrom."

He smiled at the dreamy look that passed through Laura's eyes. Her only regret from their trip to New York City was not being able to see the NYCB perform. The troupe's arrival in LA allowed them to seize that missed opportunity and she'd been looking forward to the performance for weeks. Following her into the bathroom, he drew a quick comb through his hair, before setting it down and stepping behind her. He pressed his lips against her neck.

"And when we return home after the ballet, the game of choice is mine this evening." Watching him in the mirror, she raised her brows at him.

"Oh? How did you reach that conclusion? I remember neither a bet providing that as the outcome nor a conversation." Fingering aside the neck of her blouse, he suckled lightly at the base near her shoulder, grinning as he watched goosebumps dance across her skin.

"If I promise to make it well worth your while?" he asked, his hands gripping her waist and turning her to face him. A hand cupped her neck as his lips sought hers, in a kiss so tender that her heart fluttered and she pressed closer to him as her fingers sought then found the nape of his neck, playing in his hair there. With a soft groan, he settled in to nibble on her lower lip before pressing his lips more firmly against hers, while slowly walking backwards urging her along. She was the first to part, panting softly.

"An appetizer?" she asked breathily, allowing him to turn her around.

"Precisely," he agreed, his lips journeying across her jaw before turning their attention to her neck as he lowered her to the bed.

"Will the meal be several courses?" She tipped her head back, to give him more access, gasping when his tongue dared to taste her skin.

"I'm thinking more along the lines of one long course in which every morsel is savored," he murmured against her lips before claiming them as his own again. A hand skimmed her side, tracing the curve of her waist. Her lips left his to seek the sensitive spot below an ear.

"And if I want desert?" He drew in a sharp breath as her hand caressed a cheek of his bottom while her mouth suckled at the same time.

"'Ah, the stuff dreams are made of,'" he answered huskily.

" _The Maltese Falcon,_ Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Warner Bros, 1941," she quoted. He stilled then reached for her, pulling her back up so their lips hovered close.

"You know what it does to me when you do that," he mumbled, then leaned in, kissing her again.

"Murphy," she whispered around his lips. He raised his head to look at her, askance.

"I might be alarmed that you're speaking another man's name at a moment like this, if it weren't his." He closed in to taste her again.

"Murphy," she repeated, trying not to giggle as he stilled again.

"I've no desire to kiss Murphy. Let him kiss Sherry." He returned to her lips to try again, only to find a pair of fingers digging between a pair of ribs. She smoothly slipped from the bed when he automatically jerked away.

"You, Murphy; me, brunch," she told him over her shoulder, returning to the bathroom. She picked up her brush then laughed again when she watched in the mirror as he approached then leaned down to press his lips to her partially bare shoulder.

"You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele," he drawled.

"Just keeping you on your toes, Mr. Steele." He nodded soberly.

"That you do." He lay his lips next to her ear. "My game of choice this evening?" Her hand reached over her shoulder and fingertips brushed his cheek.

"Your game of choice," she agreed, "as long as you remember that the final play is mine."

"Oh, I'll remember, I assure you of that," he grinned. Bussing her on the side of the head, he told her goodbye and left her standing in the bathroom as he departed to meet Murphy at the loft.


	5. Chapter 5: Gone

Remington wasn't sure what he expected when he arrived at the loft, but the stench permeating it was not among the list. He was instantly taken back two decades to the streets of Brixton, when on more than one occasion, hunger biting deep into his bones, he'd foraged through trashcans outside of grocers looking for anything to take the edge off. They were unwelcome memories, memories he'd not shared with anyone to this day, and that the odor percolating in her former home transported back to those times made him see red.

Walking around the living room then her bedroom, he eyed the plates of partially eaten food, some already covered with mold, with open disgust. Beer cans, crushed, and partially full, littered tables, counters and floors. It was clear her drawers had been looked through, based on swatches of clothing peeking out here and there, her bed slept in. His blood boiled. Not only had someone invaded her former home, they'd treated it with little regard. That he saw no sign which would reveal the identity of the interloper thoroughly chafed.

"Where does Laura keep her cleaning supplies?" Murphy asked from below in the living room. "I'll help you clean this mess up. I sent Sher to pick up some garbage bags. The box under Laura's kitchen sink was empty." Remington nodded.

"There's been no need for any of late," he answered distractedly. He swept a hand through his hair and looked around again.

"Steele," Murphy called. When he was left unheard, he raised his voice. "Steele!" Remington turned to look at the man. "Where does Laura keep her cleaning supplies?" Remington flicked an arm towards the bathroom.

"Linen closet, rear wall."

Heaving a sigh of disgust, he walked across the room and began stripping down Laura's bed, tossing comforter, sheets and pillow cases on the floor.

"Steele, have you and Laura been dabbling in, um, photography lately?" Murphy called from the bathroom.

"The only thing Laura and I have been 'dabbling' in of late is Agency business. We've barely had time to spend together, let alone immerse ourselves in a new hobby."

"Then I think you need to come see this." Remington frowned in the direction of the bathroom, wondering what in the buggering hell had gotten into Murphy. Gathering together the bedding, he brought it down the stairs with him, then dropped it into a chair before reluctantly joining Murphy in the bathroom. His feet stalled at the doorway as he caught the first glimpse of what had caught Murphy's interest. He could hear the roar of his escalating blood pressure in his ears, as his temper exploded.

With no fanfare and little grace, he began yanking down the eight-by-ten photographs hanging from clothes lines in three rows across the bathroom. Laura and he at the blackjack table in Cannes; Laura and he dozing in the hammock at the villa; Laura and he wrapped around each other, sleeping, after they'd made love on the beach; Laura and he making loving on the sailboat in Greece; several shots of him and Astrid Covington; Laura jogging. More than two dozen pictures of them with one another and apart.

"That sodding bastard," he raged. "We suspected he'd been following us in Europe, but never to this extent."

"Roselli? You think this is Roselli's work?" Murphy demanded to know.

"Not think, _know._ " He held up the pictures of him with Astrid. "He sent these to Laura, along with the flowers." Storming out of the bathroom, he paced the living room floor. He came to an abrupt halt and turned around slowly to look at the loft around him. He slapped the photographs at Murphy's chest who'd followed behind him. "Find something to put these in," he told the man as he strode across the room towards the phone. Picking up the receiver he dialed a number.

"Good morning," he greeted when someone picked up on the other side of the line. "This is Remington Steele. I need Mr. Meyerson to call me at once… Yes, yes, I'm aware it's Saturday morning… Look, I don't particularly care that Mr. Meyerson prefers not to be disturbed at home on the weekends… I tell you what, you just get him a message and let him make the decision as to whether or not he wishes to speak to me… Thank you…. Tell him I believe Roselli is back in LA… R-o-s-e-l-l-i…. No need for all that, he'll know exactly whom I'm speaking about… Tell him he can reach me here," he provided the woman the loft phone number. "If I don't answer, he can try the car phone or our flat." After reciting those numbers as well he disconnected the call.

"Who is Meyerson?" Murphy asked, emptying the contents of a manila envelope on Laura's desk and sliding the pictures into it.

"Our attorney," Remington answered shortly.

"Steele, if this is Roselli's work, you know you have to call the LAPD." Remington considered the suggestion for a moment, then shook his head while running a hand across his mouth.

"Can't do that, mate. Laura would be beyond livid should I risk, again I might add, the public getting wind of our inability to secure our own homes. LA's finest are not an option."

"Steele, don't be stupid—"

"Look," Remington whirled to face him, voice rising. "Laura wouldn't want it. Furthermore, I'll be damned if anyone will be setting their eyes on those photographs. You've no idea what is was like for after her secret admirer last year. None, whatsoever. Those pictures _he_ took of her were beyond modest in comparison to these," he ranted, grabbing the envelope from Murphy and holding it up. "There are pictures of us in some of the most excruciatingly private moments of our lives in here. Explicit photos. Photos of Laura…" he broke off, unable to voice it. "I'll neither have her humiliated by the boys in blue again nor will I allow her to be harmed by knowing of them."

"You're not going to tell her?" Murphy asked, stunned. "You know how Laura feels about anyone trying to protect her—"

"I don't give a bloody damn if she decides to put that temper of hers on full display." He swiped harshly at his hair. "Her secret admirer, the aftermath? It's the closest I've ever been to seeing something break Laura Holt. You've no idea what it was like soothing her through nightmares she wasn't even aware she was having, watching her entire body flinch at the slightest noise from the alleyway… to see her utter humiliation after she'd watched officers discuss those pictures and her." He turned and faced Murphy again. "You've no idea what it was like, and I won't see the same happen to her again."

Murphy held his hands up in Remington's direction. "You're right, I had no idea. She never said anything."

"Laura Holt admit to weakness?" Remington laughed hard and short. "You know her better than that, Michaels." He shook his head. "Look, only three people know of these pictures: Roselli, who will never get close enough to her to let on; and you and I. I've no intention of telling her…"

"You win. My lips are sealed." He nodded towards the envelope. "What will you do with them?" Remington shook his head.

"Secure them for now. The only way they'll ever see the light of day is if we can't permanently extricate the man from our lives otherwise." He took another look around the loft then sighed resignedly. "Michaels, I hate to ask this of you, but would you mind cleaning up around here? I need to go home and forewarn Laura that Roselli appears to be back in LA. I'd prefer to get it out of the way before everyone starts arriving for brunch." Murphy walked over to him and slapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't envy you that job," he commiserated in a rare moment of male comradery. "Go. Sher and I will have this cleaned up in no time. We'll see you at brunch." Remington nodded and held a hand out to the other man.

"I owe you one for this," he told him, sincerely, shaking his hand. Taking a final look around the loft, with a swipe of a hand across his face, he departed.

For once, the thought of the stairs he detested didn't even occur to him. He briskly descended then after exiting the front door to the building veered towards the parking area where the Rabbit had rested for years.

Remington never saw the bat as he turned the corner of building. He doubled over, clutching at his stomach and gasping for air, as two pairs of hands grabbed his arms, and two beefy Latinos body slammed him into the wall.

* * *

Laura had just finished pulling her hair back into a casual ponytail and spraying back the bangs that were growing out but still uncooperative. With a shake of her head, she gave her shoulders a shrug. _The best I'll be able to do for now._ Moving into the bedroom, she made the bed, then after a quick tour of bed and bath, carried an arm load of washables to the kitchen. She'd just loaded the washer and started it when she heard the front door of the flat open and close. Looking at the alarm clock she noted Remington had been gone only a little more than a half of an hour.

"You can't already be done at the loft, can you?" she called towards the living room, before walking that way herself. She bit her lip as her ankle shot a brief twang of pain up her leg, reminding her that she needed to wear the dreaded boot all day if she had a prayer of her perpetually concerned husband not gluing her foot into it for their evening out. She snorted softly to herself. _Good luck with that. There's no way I'm wearing that boot with the dress I plan to wear tonight._

She froze, heart pounding, mind disbelieving, when she saw it wasn't Remington standing in their living room.

"Hello, Laura," he greeted with a smile, as though last months had never happened, threats had never been made, warnings had never been issued. Laura willed herself to show none of the anxiety raging in her and carefully blanked her face.

"What are you doing here, Tony?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I thought I made myself clear, last time we spoke, what would happen if you contacted either Remington or I ever again." Roselli took several steps closer while giving her a careless shrug.

"And I made it clear that Steele would never have you, didn't I?" Laura's eyes looked over the man, her mind registering that any visible signs of the beating he'd taken at Remington's hands were long gone, then scanned the room, looking for avenues of escape. With Roselli effectively blocking the path to the door, she easer herself toward the bedroom.

"This has got to stop," she informed him, her voice sharper than she'd intended. "You don't want me. From the start you've been using me to get to him." He shrugged his shoulders, not denying the charges.

"There was a time I did," he offered carelessly as he slowly moved closer. "The way I see it, once we're alone together, when he's no longer pulling your strings, that old juice, that spark between us will come back to life." Laura snorted lightly, while shaking her head in disbelief.

"Do you even hear yourself? How many times do I have to tell you there's nothing between us, there never was? For God's sake, Tony, we kissed a couple of times, nothing more than that. There was never a _chance_ for more than that." She flicked her hand while giving a sharp shake of her head, even as she crept closer to the bedroom. "There's more to this… this… obsession of yours with me. What is it? What do you really want?"

"I've told you, repeatedly," he laughed darkly. "He won't have you."

"And I've told you," she replied, voice hardening as she waved a finger in his direction, "he already does… has had me for years." Pushing off on the good foot, she sprinted for the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Racing for the phone, she picked it up and dialed the loft. "Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up…" she muttered repeatedly. As the door to the bedroom splintered, she dropped the phone, leaving the line open, hoping against hope that Remington would be able to hear whatever happened next. Roselli laughed at her.

"You didn't really think that flimsy excuse for a door was going to keep me out, did you Laura? I thought you were smarter than that." Closing her eyes for a split second, she battled for composure. She lambasted herself mentally when she realized the only way out of the room was past the man.

"No, but I was hoping you'd take it as a hint and leave." She leveled her eyes on him. "But you were never too good with hints, were you, Tony? Always putting the moves on me, even though I'd back away, put space between us. Never paying attention to the fact that when left to my own devices I'd be at Mr. Steele's side, not yours. Ignoring the fact that except for that one night in LA when Shannon appeared, I slept wherever my husband was sleeping." Planting both her feet, she squared her shoulders and plunked her hand on her hips. "Not getting that I am exactly where I want to be, where I've _always wanted to be._ " Roselli guffawed, before his lip curled into a sneer.

"He's trash, Laura. I'd think a woman as classy as you are, at least most of the time, wouldn't want herself brought down by a piece of shit like him." Temper igniting, Laura's eyes narrowed and her chin tipped upwards.

"And I'd want _you_ instead?" she laughed in disbelief. "Maybe I haven't spelled it out clearly enough for you. Remington is a good man… a _kind_ man… that has spent years helping me build my dream for no other reason than to make me happy, whereas you've done nothing but use me from the day we met. He has put his life on the line more times I can count rather than to see me harmed, whereas you tossed me into the hands of the Malvados, not to mention what you've done to me yourself. When I needed time to work through my anger and hurt after our first wedding, he gave it to me, taking everything I threw at him, even blaming himself for all I'd done. You? You used one of the hardest times in our lives against us, to manipulate, to blackmail." She shook her head vigorously. "He's trash?" She laughed harshly. "We've built a world renowned investigative agency on hard work and who he is, what he is. Clients are drawn to him because of his good humor, his grace, his class, his sense of justice… his innate, genuine, goodness. You couldn't even hope to be a third of the man he is, even on your best of days. _You're_ trash, Tony, not him."

She didn't see it coming, though in retrospect she realized she should have, as she'd watched his fury build as she spoke. She took the fist he wielded in her cheekbone, the impact sending her hurdling backwards into the nightstand. She groaned as she saw stars, but managed to right herself, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of giving in to the pain.

"And he's never once laid his hand on anyone half his size, man or woman, whereas you've done so to me three times now," She shook her head both to clear it and in disgust, "whereas you see your size as a weapon to be used in an attempt to dominate, physically, anyone who dares to oppose you." Tony shrugged, unimpressed.

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And if you think I'm gonna sit back and listen while you insult me, you've got another thing coming." Her ears piqued at the street jargon, but it impressed her not at all. "Now, we've played around long enough, it's time to go."

"Are you insane?" she demanded, voice rising. "I'm not going anywhere with you. How many times do I have to tell you that?" He laughed again and held up both hands.

"I wasn't giving you a choice, Laura. I'm telling you how it's gonna be." He stepped nearer to her. "Now, do you wanna do it the hard way or the easy way?"

Laura gnawed on her lip, pretending to consider his question. In fact, she was assessing her odds of getting away from the man. Clearly, as long as he stood between her and the bedroom door, that chance was non-existent. If, however, she could position herself _in front_ of him, then she'd lay even odds that with just a split second head start, she could make it out of the apartment and to the stairwell before him. She feigned defeat, allowing her shoulders to sag.

"It seems to me there is _no choice._ We both know you can overpower me," she told him, intentionally inserting what might be a whine into her voice.

"Smart woman, now let's go." Wrapping his hand around her upper arm, he gave it a tug, propelling her in front of him. She gave her arm nearly a vicious yank, pulling it from his grip.

"Keep your hands off of me," she snapped, her temper igniting when he laughed at her in amusement. He gave her a shove toward the bedroom door.

"Get moving," he ordered.

Spying his tennis shoe clad foot, she gave a mental shrug of her shoulders. Sometimes the old tricks were the best ones, and she'd used this one effectively many a time. She came to an abrupt stop, then lifting her right leg jammed her bare heel into the top of his foot, then as he leaned over in surprise at the action, brought her right elbow back hard into his face. She immediately pushed off running with her left foot, having forgotten how fast the man's reactions were. She hadn't made it two steps when he wrapped his hand around her ponytail, swinging her around, ramming her hips into the sofa table before her face hit Remington's framed Casablanca movie poster. Her vision darkened for a split second before a searing pain rippled through her body. Lifting her hand gingerly, to her forehead, she felt the wetness there.

"So much for the easy way," he commented in a sinister tone. Turning towards him, she watched, dazed, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. Taking off the cap, he neared her and reached for her arm.

"Tony, don't," she told him groggily. As he prepared to sink the needle into her skin, adrenaline rushed through her. Her hands grabbed his arm, trying to keep the needle at bay. A hard shove propelled her into the wall next to the sofa table, tearing a moan from deep within her throat. She felt the pinch of the needle and felt the burn of the drug spread through her bicep.

The drug he'd given her hit her brain with the force of tsuami. In her last moments of consciousness, as Roselli swung her over his shoulder, she slipped her engagement ring from her finger and let it drop to the floor. She swiped at the door frame with her still sticky hand and in the last moments of consciousness hoped she'd left enough clues for Remington so that he wouldn't question even for a moment that she hadn't left of her own free will.

* * *

Murphy picked up the phone in the loft on the third ring.

"Michaels," he greeted. "Hello?" he tried again into the ensuing silence. He frowned as he heard what sounded like wood splintering. "Hello?" he ventured again.

' _ **You didn't really think that flimsy excuse for a door was going to keep me out, did you, Laura? I thought you were smarter than that.'**_

Murphy stilled when his mind registered what it was he was listening to. He firmly squelched his gut reaction to scream her name, to make it known that someone was listening. When he heard flesh hit flesh and someone clearly colliding with a piece of furniture, his fingers gripped the receiver so hard that his knuckles whitened. But it was these words that sent chills down his spine and put him in motion.

' _ **Now, we've played around long enough, it's time to go.'**_

Dropping the receiver on the counter, he bolted out of the loft door, leaving the door ajar in his haste. He knew he wouldn't be able to get to Laura in time to stop Roselli, but said a quick prayer Steele could and would merely need assistance cleaning up when he was done with the man. With no thought other than finding a taxi and getting to the Rossmore, he took the steps downwards, two at a time.

* * *

Remington struggled against the two pairs of hands holding him against the brick wall. His cheekbone throbbed where it had impacted the wall, and the skin burned, more than likely from scraping across the rough surface. He fought to catch his breath, knocked out of him by the baseball bat to his stomach.

"To what do I owe the honor, gentleman?" he managed to pant.

"A man wishes us to give you two messages, Mr. Steele," a voice intoned, far enough behind him for Remington to realize there were at least three would-be assailants on hand.

"Delightful things, messages, made all the more pleasant when left on an answering machine. So much less… personal." He cringed, when a hand grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face against the wall again. He fought to find purchase so he could wrest free of his captors, and found none. "Shall we get on with it then," he ground out.

"First, that your wife has been freed of your abuse." At the mention of Laura, Remington began to struggle anew.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about? So help me, if—" The impending threat was cut off when a fist plowed into his back.

"Second, that your interference comes to an end here," the man told him ominously. "Now," he ordered the other two men.

To Remington's credit, when his arms were released he was able to get in a few blows of his own. But the beating was systematic, brutal, meant to break him. When he lost his feet out from underneath of him, booted feet took the place of fists. When one landed along the side of his head, nausea rose up as he fought to remain conscious. With the assault on his body paused, he tried to push himself up to his hands and knees, only to collapse as the darkness closed in. His mind processed a clicking sound. He shook his head to clear it and instead sent it spinning. He could only manage one thought, one word, before unconsciousness claimed him.

"Laura…"

"Finish it," the ring leader ordered, as he tossed a switchblade to one of the men. The eyes of the two men that had beat Remington met, both reluctant to do as bid. They shook their heads at their leader, neither capable of doing what was demanded of them.

"Do it!" the man yelled at the other two only to again face a shake of their head. "I'll have to do it myself then," he concluded.

Taking back the knife, he flipped it open, the shoved Remington over on his back with his foot. Leaning over him, the blade hovered over Remington's face.

* * *

Murphy shoved open the doors to Laura's building hard enough that one kicked back at him. He narrowly avoided taking the door in his face. Mindless of that fact, he pounded down the stairs outside, scanning the road for a taxi before he ever hit the sidewalk. His eyes caught sight of the Auburn still parked outside of the building. He hadn't a chance to even process that oddity when he said prayer of thanksgiving when the rental car his wife had taken to the store drove into view. Pulling the car over beside the sidewalk, two car lengths away from him, he watched as something caught Sherry's eyes. The car had barely come to a stop when she lunged out of it, pointing towards the alleyway.

"Murph," she screamed at him, "Hurry!"

The fear in her voice had him sprinting in the direction she indicated while reaching for the nine mm concealed under his leather jacket. Rounding the corner of the building, he saw the glint of a knife as it was lowering towards Remington's face. He fired a shot in the air, startling the three men, then walked slowly forward aiming the gun at each of them in turn.

"Back up," he ordered, his voice just begging one of them to challenge him. The men moved almost as one, hands held aloft, taking step-by-step backwards, until their backs pressed against the wall where they'd pinned Remington earlier. Sherry rushed to Remington's side to assess his injuries.

"Alright, which of you are going to tell me why you seem to have a problem with my friend here?" Murphy demanded to know. All three men remained stonily silent.

"Sher? Steele has a phone in his car. Do me a favor, call the police and tell them I have three men at gunpoint who have just assaulted him." Sherry looked from him to Remington, torn between her husband's request and trying to give Remington aid.

"Please, we beg of you, no policia," the leader spoke, his English becoming far less fluid in his alarm.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

"We, our families…our children… we'll all be deported. We did this only to save our families from being sent back to where we came from. _Please_ , senor."

"Who put you up to this? I want a name," Murphy clamored.

"The man from Immigration. He said if we did this, he would make sure we were given papers permitting our families to stay."

"A name," he demanded again, already knowing the name he'd hear.

"Roselli," the man offered desperately. Murphy muttered a string of epitaphs under his breath.

"Your wallets, toss them over to me," he instructed the men. When the men hesitated, he reminded them, "It's me or the police." The wallets landed at his feet. "Sher, can you help a minute?"

"I thought that's what I was doing," she reminded him, trying to assess the extent of Remington's injuries.

"Just grab any identification you can find out of their wallets, will ya?" With a frown in her husband's direction, she stood and then grabbed the wallets. Pulling the requested information from each, she looked at Murphy. "Toss the wallets back over to them. How bad is he?"

"It's pretty serious, Murph," she answered, returning to Remington's side. "The uneven dilation of his eyes suggest a concussion, a serious one. Based on the laxity of a few of his ribs, cracked at the very least. Far too many contusions and lacerations for me to even begin to count."

"So nothing life threatening?"

"Not that I can see, but I'm neither a doctor nor do I have access to x-rays, MRI's. We need to call an ambulance, have him seen at the ER." He shook his head.

"I don't think we can do that. I need you to wake him up." She frowned at him.

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

"I don't know," he answered, aggravation sneaking into his tone. "Get my bottle of water out of the car and douse him with it."

"Murph," she replied in a warning voice, "He needs to see a doctor."

"There's no time for that," he snapped. "Sher, unless I'm wrong, Laura's been taken by the man that I told you about, the one that's been stalking her. I need Steele awake and I need him awake now. He needs to know, to be able to make the choice of where he wants to go."

"Oh my God," she breathed, then pushed herself to her feet, running for the car. She returned in short order with her carryon bag. Unzipping it, she rummaged through it quickly, yanking out her travel first aid kit. "Ammonia capsules," she explained to Murphy without him having to ask. Breaking open a capsule, she held it under Remington's nose. Coughing, he rolled his head back and forth, trying to get away from the noxious odor. After several seconds, his eyes opened and he reached up to shove the capsule away from him. His eyes focused on Sherry.

"Sherry? What are you doing here?" His eyes scanned the perimeter of where he lay. "Michaels? What in the bloody hell?"

"Steele, I need you to focus. Do you know what happened to you?"

"Aye. The chaps you seem to have detained over there were sent to deliver me a little message." Murphy nodded, relieved that Remington seemed to be thinking clearly.

"Steele, Roselli was at your apartment with Laura." Remington blinked hard, hoping he'd imagined the words Murphy had spoken. The man's silence told him otherwise. Remembering the first of the messages imparted on him, he shoved himself to his feet, sucking in a harsh breath as his body screamed in protest. He swayed briefly before the world around him stopped spinning.

"What are you waiting for, Michaels?"

Murphy only nodded, then began backing up the alley, gun remaining trained on the three men. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remington heading for the Auburn. "Steele, you're in no shape to drive. Get in," he directed, giving a jerk of his head towards the rental car. Only when Remington and Sherry were safely inside of the car, did he lower the weapon and slide into the driver's seat. Starting the car, he pressed the gas hard to the floorboard, squealing tires, as he pointed the car in the direction of the Rossmore.

* * *

On their way to the Rossmore, Murphy had filled Remington in on what he'd overheard on the phone, then Remington had supplied the first of the two messages given to him by his assailants. Sherry had peppered the conversation with small gasps of horror but held any commentary beyond that to herself. There would be time for she and Murphy to discuss her thoughts on the matter when they were alone.

When they pulled up to the Rossmore, Remington was out of the car and running towards the complex before Murphy had even turned the engine off. With a quick 'wait here' thrown Sherry's way, he took off after Remington, managing to slide in between the closing elevator doors. Remington stood silent, worrying a thumbnail with his teeth. He threw himself out of the elevator as soon as space between the doors would allow.

"Oh, God," he murmured under his breath, when he saw the door to the flat standing wide open. The fear that he'd been trying to hold at bay, swamped him. "Laura!" he called into apartment as he crossed the threshold. His stomach clenched when he saw the streaks of blood on the door jamb. He sprinted through the flat calling out her name, while Murphy could only stand and watch. The streaks of blood had already confirmed what he'd believed he'd witnessed, in a way, as he'd listened in on the phone. "Laura!" Remington yelled now, the desperation clear in his voice. Emerging from the bedroom he cast frantic eyes towards Murphy. "She's not here," he told the other man, panic rising in his voice. "She's not here. She's not here." He stilled, staring at something on the floor near where Murphy stood. "Oh, God," he could only mumble again, as he kneeled on one knee and picked up her engagement ring from where she'd dropped it. Holding it between his fingers, he staggered to his feet, listening to the deafening silence of the apartment.

"Steele, we need to call the police," Murphy said quietly.

Wiping his hand across his face, Remington nodded. Walking numbly towards the sofa table, he picked up the phone from off the floor and attempted to place the call, his eyes catching the shattered, blood speckled glass of his Casablanca frame. He stared at the phone when it remained without a dial tone.

"Check your other extensions. I was…" he swallowed the lump in his own throat "… listening when it happened…" he let the thought trail off.

Nodding, Remington stumbled towards the bedroom. Finding the receiver off the hook and lying on the floor, he picked it up. This time when he pressed down the plunger and let it up again, a dial tone sounded. Dialing the LAPD, he slumped down to sit on the bed. Propping his forehead in his hand, supported by an elbow planted on a knee he spoke numbly when his call was answered. "Remington Steele, here," he uttered, "I need to speak with Detective Jarvis at once."

"Jarvis in interrogation. Can't be interrupted. I'll have him call you, Steele," the brisk voice on the other end of the line informed him.

"I'm afraid you'll need to interrupt him anyway," Remington replied, voice turning terse, as anger began to seep in. "Tell him it's a matter of life or death."

"Steele, you better not be pulling my leg. He'll have my ass if this is nothing more than a social call."

"Get him on the bloody phone," Remington yelled, lunging to his feet. Swiping at his hair, he forced himself to calm, holding up a hand to the non-existent person in the room. "I'm sorry. Just… please… get him on the phone," he nearly pleaded, his now quiet voice filled with strain.

"Hold on."

Carrying the phone across the room with him, he opened the small wooden jewelry box there, which stored his collection of watches and the medallion he once wore every day without fail. Slipping the chain from the medallion, he threaded it through Laura's engagement ring, setting down the phone only long enough to clasp the chain around his neck. Retrieving the phone, he rolled the ring between finger and thumb.

"Steele," Jarvis's voice droned through the line, "This had better be important. I was in the mid—"

"I need you to come 'round to the flat. It's… Roselli… He's back in LA… He… He's," he stumbled, then forced the words past his lips, "He's taken her… He's taken Laura."

"Jesus Christ," Jarvis mumbled, stunned. In the middle of his office, he shook his head, remembering her determination just weeks before to see Roselli, to tell him his stalking of her had come to an end. Swinging open his office door he yelled to the sergeant at the desk. "I want two of our best investigators sent to Steele's place at the Rossmore. Send out an APB on one Anthony Roselli. Pull his mug shot from our records, he was in our custody less than two weeks ago. I want every man we have on the street looking for him." He took a deep breath, knowing Holt would string him up for the next, if they got her back. "Include a picture of Laura Holt as the victim." The desk sergeant's mouth fell open at that. "I'll be right there, Steele," Jarvis spoke now into the phone, then without thinking about it hung up. Grabbing his jacket, he raced out of his office.

Remington hung up the phone then sagged back down to sit on the bed, with elbows on knees and head hanging. He prayed that this was nothing more than a nightmare; that at any second he would feel the gentle brush of Laura's lips across his as she tried to soothe it away. For long minutes he willed exactly that to happen, then, if for no other reason than the stark, cold fear that had settled in his bones, he accepted it _was_ happening, it _was_ reality. _She's gone. He's taken her. She's gone._ The words began to repeat like a mantra in his head

The memory came sharp and swift, making him suck in a deep harsh breath, as he recalled the words Laura had spoken that morning on the dock while they were on the private island.

' _ **I feel like time is running out.'**_

The words were a portent, not that he'd known it at the time. Much as he'd known from the time their eyes had first met across a room that his life was about to irrevocably change because of the little sprite of a woman staring back at him, somehow she'd known that they'd soon be torn asunder. He silently berated himself for not giving her fears more credence. A twist of fate had brought the two of them together more than four years before. He should have known, believed, a much crueler twist could tear them apart as well. He should have kept her close, kept her safe, when she'd shared her beliefs about what was to come.

His attention was drawn by someone calling out to Laura from the living room. Vaulting from the bed, he imagined for a short breath that Laura hadn't been taken. That she'd just arrive with Bernice, whose voice was calling out her name. Striding quickly into the other room that momentary light of hope was obliterated as Bernice and her husband, Jason, stood in the too quiet room.

"Don't tell me we're the first to arrive," Bernice chortled a little too loudly. Remington struggled to find the words. _Where in the bloody hell is Michaels?_ he wondered. His mouth opened but no words sounded.

The phone rang and he lunged for it. "Laura? Love?" he answered the phone, his voice ringing with desperation, all of the elan for which he was known left blowing in the wind.

"Mr. Steele? It's Joshua Meyerson. What's going on?"

"He's taken my wife, _that's_ what's bloody well going on!" Fury had ignited the instant he heard the attorney speak. Behind him, Bernice exchanged a frantic look with her husband, reaching out and clutching his hand. "You assured us he was gone, that you'd watched him board the plane yourself. So would you mind telling me how in the bloody hell this has happened?"

"What do you mean he's taken Mrs. Steele?" Meyerson demanded to know, his voice none too calm now either.

"Kidnapped. Absconded with. Taken by force. She's bloody well injured and in his hands," he raged at the hapless man. His fingers hovered over the cracked glass of the picture in front of him before his hand dropped to the table.

"I'll be there shortly. I've got a few phone calls to make. I assure you, I'll find out how this could have happened," he vowed, furious himself now that the INS had clearly dropped the ball. Without further ado, he disconnected the line.

Remington slammed down the phone, then closing his eyes and clenching his fists, forced himself to calm down before turning his attention back to Bernice.

During Remington's conversation with Meyerson, Bernice had begun looking around the flat with a fresh eye. Her hand shook in her husband's when she saw the jamb to the bedroom door splintered, but it was when her sight landed on the shattered movie poster frame, that hysteria set in.

"Is that blood?" she cried out, her voice going up an octave. " _Is that Laura's blood? Oh my God, it is, isn't it?_ Where's Laura? What's going on? I don't understand," she wailed, quickly teetering on the edge of hysteria.

Murphy returned with Sherry in arm as Bernice demanded answers. Stepping away from Murphy, Sherry took Bernice by the arm and led her to the couch, trying to lend the woman comfort as she broke down into tears. Jarvis and four officers arrived in the midst of this.

"Give it to me quick, Steele," Jarvis demanded without any niceties. Remington turned to face the man, then watched as Jarvis's jaw went slack. "What the hell happened to you, Steele? Is Roselli responsible for this as well?" Unable to find the words, seemingly having expended them on Meyerson, he raised his hands then dropped them, deflated.

"Roselli arranged it, yes," Murphy answered for Remington, while eyeing him speculatively. "Sent along two messages through the three goons he hired to do it. You see the first message, though they didn't have an opportunity to finish it. The other message was that Laura had been 'freed' of his abuse."

"And Holt? How do you know Roselli has her?" Murphy rubbed the back of his neck, and looked at the detective with strained eyes.

"She tried to call him at the loft," he nodded towards Remington, "She never had a chance to say hello. She dropped the phone. I heard Roselli breaking into the bedroom." He grimaced at the next. "Him hitting Laura while they were still in there. Giving her the choice to go with him the easy way or the hard way…" His stomach rolled, not for the first time on the afternoon.

Monroe and Jocelyn walked into the middle of the fray. While they had no idea what had happened, that there were officers going in and out of Laura and Remington's bedroom did not bode well. Jocelyn went to join Sherry and Bernice on the couch, while Monroe propped a hip on the entry way table, settling in to listen and watch. When Remington turned slightly, Monroe flinched upon seeing his friend's battered profile. Given Remington had been at his apartment the night before playing poker, he could only conclude the injuries had occurred at some point on the day.

"Did you hear anything else?" Jarvis queried.

"No. I left the loft. I knew I couldn't get here in time, but Steele had left, I don't know, ten, maybe fifteen minutes before. I was hoping…" Murphy shook his head and let his words peter off.

Jarvis looked to the poster frame behind him, studying it at length as long seconds ticked by. "With a little luck, she's injured him. Maybe he'll be forced to find a doctor," Jarvis said thoughtfully.

"It's not he that's been injured. It's Laura," Remington said dully, speaking for the first time since the detective arrived. Forcing the words past his lips had taken more effort than he believed he had in him in the wake of her disappearance.

"How could you possibly know that, Steele? It's just as likely that he's the one—"

Remington flicked his hand towards the picture. "The height of the…" he swallowed hard, "…impact to start. Roselli's of similar height as to my own. Has a good three-quarters of a foot on her. If it had been he, the impact would have been considerably higher."

"It could have been his hand that hit—" Remington interrupted him again.

"A few strands of her hair are caught in the glass. You can see cloudiness in the glass were her makeup came in contact with it." Remington swiped a hand over his mouth before holding his hand over his face, fingers spread. "She wanted us to know that it was she that was injured, that she didn't choose to leave but was forced to."

"Should I ask how you know that?" Remington walked towards the front door, kneeling before the frame.

"Roselli's hands are large, his fingers… beefy. Laura's hands are small, delicate even." He lifted a hand, as though reaching to touch the fingers that had left the streaks of blood behind. "These marks were made by her. She wanted to be certain to leave us something, so she grabbed the frame."

"Speculation," Jarvis charged. Remington stood and shot him a look filled with pent up rage.

"I know my wife, Jarvis. Even more so, I know my partner of going on five years now. I know how that mind of her works. She wanted us to know," he insisted. Jarvis held up his hands at Remington, trying to calm the situation.

"You're right. I've seen you and Holt at work together. I'll take your word on it." Jarvis walked to the door to study the marks himself, before returning his attention to Remington.

"Any idea where he may have taken her?" Remington gave Jarvis a look that clearly questioned the man's intelligence.

"If I did, do you think I'd be standing here speaking with you? That I'd have called you at all? I'd bloody well be going after them, _that's_ what I'd be doing!" He shook his head in disgust, and with a wave of his hand walked towards the kitchen. "I've a phone call to make."

"Don't you think that can wait, Steele?" Jarvis asked his back as he walked away.

"No, I don't," he answered sharply. Jarvis turned his attention to Murphy.

"What could possibly be more important than this?" Murphy shook his head at the man.

"Give the man a break, will you, Detective? He's been seriously beaten, his wife's been abducted, and now he has to call her family and tell them. I wouldn't wish what he's going through on my worst enemy, and he sure as hell should be given a little latitude, don't you think?" Murphy shocked himself as much as Jarvis in his defense of Remington. _I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be defending him._

In the kitchen, Remington held one hand against the phone on the wall, while he scrubbed at his face with the other. He had no idea how to make this particular call. No idea how to tell Laura's family that she was gone and that he had not the first clue as to where she'd been taken. He wouldn't be able to offer them a single reassurance; could only give them his word that he'd do whatever it took to bring her home, and he wouldn't stop until he did just that. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the phone number for Donald and Frances Piper. He lay his head against the wall in relief when it was Donald's voice that answered the phone.

"Piper residence. I hope you're having a wonderful Saturday," Donald greeted in that jovial way of his.

"Donald, it's Remington."

"Remington. I didn't expect to hear from you until dinner tomorrow evening." Donald clearly considered the call to be a pleasant bonus. Then, knowing his sister-in-law as he did his mood sobered and he frowned slightly. "You're not calling to cancel on us are you?"

"Donald, is Frances nearby at the moment?"

"No, she's getting Laurie Beth ready so that she can take the children to buy their Halloween costumes. If you need to speak with her, it will only take me a min—"

"No. No, no," Remington told his brother-in-law hastily. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out. "I've some… news… that needs to be shared—"

"Tell me you and Laura are not expecting," Donald interrupted, "Oh, when Frannie hears about this she is going to be beside herself with joy," he rambled. "Her baby sis—"

"I'm afraid the news is nothing of the sort." He rubbedh is face again, then just spit it out. "Ah, damn it! Laura's been abducted Donald." Remington heard the man on the either side of the phone suck in a sharp breath.

"What? When? How? Oh my God."

"A couple hours ago, by a man that's developed an… obsession… with her, I'm afraid."

"Oh my God," he repeated. "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to Frannie? To Abigail? Does Abigail know yet?"

"No, and I'm afraid I'm going to need to impose on you to be the one to tell her. I just don't think… I can't… I don't know how to tell her," he huffed out.

"Remington, you focus on finding Laura and bringing her back to us. I'll handle Frances and Abigail," Donald told him, his voice strained at the mere thought. Both women were emotional on the best of days. To tell them this? "Do you want us to come over?"

"It would be best that you not. The police are here and when they depart, I need to focus my attentions on finding her."

"I understand. You'll keep in touch?"

"I will. And thank you."

Hanging up the phone, Remington rested his forehead against the wall. His emotions were threatening to careen out of control, as they moved from devastation to fury then back to desolation. He desperately needed to bury himself in one of the personas that fit as well as an old shoe and were equally as comforting, providing an escape from the harshness of the reality surrounding him. Yet now, they seemed to have forsaken him, leaving him no choice but to try and navigate these treacherous waters on his own. With a shake of his head, he pushed himself away from the wall, returning to the living room and Jarvis.

* * *

Roselli directed his car onto an off-ramp of CA-91, and pointed the car towards Compton. A shadier part of the LA metropolitan area, there was little chance anyone would be looking for he or Laura there. In fact, if anything could be said for the Compton area, it would be that people were prone _not_ to pay too much attention to what was going on around them, preferring not to find themselves an unwitting witness with a target on their backs. It was for this reason that Roselli chose here to stop.

Pulling the car into an alleyway, he left the engine running and the A/C going while he opened the rear door of the car. He slipped in next to Laura and closed the door. For ninety seconds the only sounds within the car were the sound of the A/C running, the engine occasionally coughing and an odd clicking and whirring sound. Opening the car door, he slid out, only to extract a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Clasping one cuff to Laura's wrist, he secured the other end the door handle. Shutting the door, he returned to the driver's seat and backed the car out of the alley.

No one saw the man or his hostage, and if they did, they would never admit to it. One last, brief stop at a courier service, and Roselli drove towards CA-91, from which they would exit onto I-5 and disappear, once and for all.

* * *

While it would seem there was little need for fingerprints to be dusted for or blood to be typed as both the suspect and victim were both known, that wasn't the case. Jarvis wanted to assure that once Laura was recovered and Roselli was in custody, that every single piece of evidence that could be thrown at the man would be. As if in silent agreement, there was no discussion amongst the parties closest to Laura about how they would see to her return themselves. The cooperation of the LAPD, both in releasing the APB and in keeping the press from getting wind of Laura's abduction, was imperative. To discuss their own plans would likely garner them no favors.

Throughout this period, Monroe sat in observance of his old friend. Remington alternately stood staring at anything that reminded him of Laura, and pacing the floor of the apartment like a feral animal trapped in a cage. He spoke seldom and when he did, it was only because he was left with no choice on the matter. Twenty minutes in, Monroe surreptitiously left the living room, to make a phone call in the kitchen. When he returned, he once more propped a hip on the entryway table and waited to intervene when his help was required.

That time would come sooner than he imagined and would arrive in the form of a courier. Said courier insisted that his instructions were only Mr. Steele could sign for the letter he held in hand. With an angry shake of his head, Remington roughly took the clipboard from the young man, and scribbled his name upon it. Atypical of him no tip was offered. Remington was prepared to toss the envelope on the entryway table next to Monroe when two things prevented him from doing so.

First, the sound of something shifting inside the envelope caught his attention. Second, only a few weeks before, Roselli had proven his affinity for sending things in unmarked envelopes. Stepping away from everyone in the living room, he secluded himself in the dining room. He lay the envelope on the dining room table, staring at it for long seconds, before scrubbing at his face and picking it up. Ripping open an end, he tilted it so that the object shifting inside fell into his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the pounding of his heart to calm. His fingers closed over the object in his hand, clutching it as though it were a lifeline between Laura and he. A shake of the envelope over the table emptied its contents: two Polaroids and a folded slip of paper.

He willed himself to pick up the paper. His fist closing all the tighter around the first offering, he read the handwritten note comprised of only four words, confirming what they already knew. Dropping it back on the surface of the table, he turned his attention to the first of the two pictures: a picture of Laura laying prone on what appeared to be the backseat of a car. His heart stumbled. If the first picture made his heart ache, the second was like a physical blow. In the close-up shot of Laura's face, he could clearly see the cut at her hair line, the bangs she loathed matted with blood there, dried blood that stained her forehead, brow and the outside of her eye to just above the cheekbone. A dark bruise already showed on the swollen cheekbone on the other side of her face.

He could only stare at the picture for a long minute, unaware that the talking in the room had ceased or that six pairs of eyes were fastened on him. When shock passed and emotion flowed, it came with a roar of fury. Whirling, his hand grabbed the first object it could find, hurtling it into the dining room wall. The crystal scotch decanter bounced off the wall, denting it, opening and spilling its holdings as it fell to the floor. Finding no relief from his anguish, he swiped the contents of the bar to the floor, before upturning it as well. He turned toward the dining room table, only to find himself subdued by a pair of arms capturing his arms behind his back in a lock hold.

The room had erupted in activity before the decanter had hit the wall. Three women sitting on the couch started, one of their hands going to her face to muffle the sobs that began anew when she witnessed his anguish. Jason flew towards the couch, prepared to take bodily anything that might be thrown in that direction. Jarvis could only watch, his hand swiping at his hair in empathy. Monroe and Murphy moved into action, with Monroe reaching Remington first and capturing his arms behind his back.

"You don't want to do this, old friend," Monroe told him calmly so not as to incite Remington's fury further. "Laura will be quite put out when she arrives home if she finds the dining room table she has carefully designed the main room of your new home around has been destroyed."

The words provided their intended reaction. Remington flinched, almost violently at the mention of his wife, then his knees nearly buckled as the enormity of her loss drowned him. His breath came in short pants of desperation as he began to shake. A weak tug of his arms had Monroe releasing them. Remington stumbled through the terrace doors in search of solitude.

Murphy snatched up the contents of the envelope, his own hands shaking from suppressed anger as he took in the pictures then read the note. He looked up in surprise to find Jarvis standing next to him.

"What are they?" the detective demanded to know.

"Two pictures of Laura," Murphy answered tightly, "and a note that says 'She's mine now, Steele.'"

"I'll need them for evidence." Without a word, Murphy slapped the three items against the detective's chest then strode into the living room where he began to pace. Sherry handed off the sobbing Bernice to her husband, and moved to Murphy's side.

"Murph, he's not going to be able to stand around doing nothing for much longer. He needs to know he's actively working towards finding Laura," she advised quietly. Murphy gathered her in his arms, keeping his voice low as he spoke.

"I know, Sher. But until Jarvis and his men leave, we can't show our cards. We don't want to confirm what I'm sure Jarvis already suspects: They won't be the ones leading this investigation, we will." She nodded her understanding.

Jocelyn rose from the couch and crossed to the dining room to join Monroe. Kneeling down, she began helping him pick shards of glass up from off the carpet.

"That night in Vail, Monroe? The night Laura collapsed?" Monroe's hand stilled and he turned his head to focus on her. "I've never seen someone so… tortured… with worry about another person. Then, at least, he had some control over trying to keep her safe, to get her well. I don't know how much more of…" she swept her hand towards to living room "…this he can take." Monroe nodded in agreement.

"I'll get Michaels alone and see what we can do about hustling the LAPD on their way," he told her in affirmation of what she'd said.

It was into this subdued chaos that Mildred crutched her way. In his phone call to her, Monroe had only said that her assistance was required immediately at the Steele's home for a new investigation. She'd only questioned why neither of the Steele's had called her, not the request for a command performance. She'd had to, grudgingly, accept it when he told her it would all be made 'quite clear' upon her arrival. Now, her sharp eyes traveled the room, taking in three couples, Jarvis, and the officer that wandered out of the Steele's bedroom to ask the detective a question. Her keen mind immediately registered that not only was something gravely wrong, but it had to surround the Steele's as both were conspicuously absent from the room. Her eyes zeroed in on the nearest target: Murphy.

"What's happening? And where are my kids?" she demanded to know in her no-nonsense IRS auditor voice, even as she tamped down the panic beginning to bubble in the pit of her stomach.

Standing there confronted by the Steele's trusted major domo, Murphy found himself at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed several times, before Monroe rescued him.

"Mildred, darling, thank you for coming so quickly. Would you like to have a seat while I answer your questions for you?" he asked solicitously. Mildred gave him the stink eye for his efforts.

"No, I don't want a seat. I want an answer. _So spill_. Where are my kids?" In the end, it was Jarvis that supplied the answer.

"Miss Holt was kidnapped by Anthony Roselli this morning, Mildred," he told her matter-of-factly. She gasped as tears welled in her eyes. She shook them off determinably.

"And the Boss?" Jarvis nodded towards the terrace.

"Out there. He's not taking this well. See if you can get him to pull it together," he advised.

"I will." Giving the man a curt nod, she crutched her way towards the terrace. Only then did Murphy finally speak up.

"Mildred," he called to her. Hobbling around, the turned to look at him. "Steele's been… beaten… pretty badly." He held up a hand palm towards the ceiling and shook his head, then dropped the hand. "I just didn't want you caught off guard." Mildred tilted up her chin, then gave him a sharp nod.

"Won't be the first time I've seen him in such shape, and I doubt it'll be the last." Redirecting herself, she made her way out onto the terrace to see to Remington.


	6. Chapter 6: Plan, Act, Offensive

Thirty minutes south of Compton, Roselli made a decision. Three times now, he'd encountered a Laura Holt he was both unfamiliar with and not at all enamored with. The hard-nosed, temperamental, unmalleable woman was the antithesis of the easily manipulated woman he'd first met in Mexico. He'd actually been smitten with the latter woman allowing himself to consider taking her on for a while. He'd meant it when he'd told her, after his release from jail, that he wasn't giving up on her. The idea of bedding her, spending a few weeks with her was especially tantalizing given it would still meet the goals he'd set for himself before ever meeting her.

But the former woman, the one he'd encountered from Cannes and beyond? That woman didn't know her place. She was opinionated, mouthy and abrasive. Why any man would want her was unimaginable. It was only that Steele _did_ want her, that had made him keep his course.

Oh, he'd still screw the bitch, if only to let Steele know that here, this time, he'd won. To know that he'd taken from Steele what he seemed most to care about. The only question that remained was: would he walk away immediately after, leaving her feel like a whore who'd been used and discarded or would something that was becoming more and more appealing be the answer.

To that end, he stopped at a veterinarian's office just north of San Clemente. Leaving the unconscious Laura in the backseat, he grabbed his INS identification and left the car. Ten minutes later, he returned carrying a small brown paper bag. Putting the car in gear, he pointed the car towards their destination once more.

* * *

Remington leaned against the rail of the terrace, his elbows braced against it. He stared at the heart-shaped gold locket on a thin gold chain. This necklace had been the third gift he'd ever given Laura. When Derrick Vivian had advised him not to forget the romance, to shower her with a flowers and a 'sensible diamond,' the suggestion had made worlds of sense. But he'd struggled with his selection. The easy way out would have been a small, unobtrusive, diamond charm hanging from a chain. Yet, when he'd called his jeweler to place just such an order, he'd had a sudden change of mind. For some reason, the purchase had reminded him of the second gift he'd every presented her, though that one had been given as though in jest, despite the underlying meaning of the words they'd exchanged.

* * *

 _ **He'd handed her the key to the storage locker where Des Coines had stashed all the evidence that would clear him of the charge of murder, for which he'd been framed.**_

 _ **"Ahh. The key to your innocence? Locked in my heart?"**_

 _ **"Think of it as an anniversary present, eh?"**_

 _ **"Only if it comes with a promise."**_

 _ **"What's that?"**_

 _ **"That you'll never again leave me for my own good."**_

 _ **"It's a promise."**_

* * *

That promise was yet another significant turning point in his life. Never once in his life prior to meeting Laura, would have he even considered making such a vow to another person. That he'd made the promise so easily, that not once had he questioned the only reply there was to give, only solidified in his mind that he wasn't going anywhere. This was it now, his life. His desires, hopes and dreams all wrapped up in the petite woman before him, who was looking up at him with those glorious brown eyes sparkling with warmth.

Thus, he'd surprised even himself when Andrei had asked him what he was seeking and he'd answered: 'a locket, I believe, in gold of course, in… uh, the shape of a heart. Yes, I believe that'll be quite suitable for what I've in mind.' He'd hung up the phone, wondering if Laura would understand the significance of the gift. He didn't want the 'key to his innocence' locked in her heart. He wanted her heart, all of it. It only seemed fair as she'd stolen his long before.

He laughed lightly, and shook his head as he thumbed the locket. He should have expected the response he'd received to the gift. She'd been unsure of the meaning of the gift, and the God's above could not have forced the stubborn woman to ask. Not that he'd done any better. He could have volunteered the meaning behind the gift, but didn't, instead diverting her attention to the meal set out on his desk. _Years wasted by the both of us. Neither of us willing to take the risk to first admit aloud what we meant to one another, neither of us willing to speak the words only to find them left unreturned. I showed her in deed what she meant to me, she needed the words. For years, she'd done the same: shown me in act what I was to her, but unwilling to put it into words. Who'd have thought I needed the words as much as she?_

He'd been slightly… injured… in the days and weeks after he'd given her the locket, searching for it on her person each day, only to find it conspicuously absent. Over the years it came out on only the rarest of occasions, most often in those moments when she allowed her defenses come down and she was feeling especially close to him. After their time in Vail, it had begun to make an appearance more and more often, but always, always, only during time set aside specifically for their personal relationship. He found himself wondering what the meaning was behind it all.

Since they'd returned from Europe, the necklace had become a daily staple of her wardrobe. She'd put it on each morning and not take it off until it was time for bed. On those nights when a spontaneous round of lovemaking would supersede their nightly bedtime ritual, he'd find himself caressing the locket. Now that they'd openly admitted to what they were to one another, now that they were well and truly wed, she'd finally proscribed to the locket the meaning it had had all along. It had become one of her most cherished pieces of jewelry, only being outshone by her wedding and engagement ring, as it was tangible proof that his heart was hers.

He knew Laura Holt well enough to know that she wouldn't have parted from the necklace willingly, which meant only one thing: it would have had to be taken by force. His stomach clenched anew at the thought. Dropping face to hand, he battled back the heartache that threatened to overwhelm.

"Boss?" Mildred called to him from where she stood near his elbow. His eyes flicked to her then away. Returning his eyes to Laura's locket, he rubbed a hand across his mouth.

"She's gone, Mildred. Roselli's taken her…" He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. "…harmed her." He was embarrassed by the moistness that settled in his eyes. Mildred, blessedly, pretended not to notice. "Sent me pictures, so I'd know just what he'd done." This time he turned and set tortured eyes on her, allowed them to stay.

Mildred sorted through a myriad of words that could be said and finally settled on the ones he most needed to hear: the words that would be spoken by Laura herself if she were here. "Boss, you've got to set that aside for now. She _needs_ you. She needs you pull yourself together and do what she taught you. Follow the bread crumbs and find her. I know Mrs. Steele well enough to know that she's out there fighting, doing whatever it takes to come home to you. She needs you fighting with everything you've got as well. You know that."

"I've no idea where to even start. The man's been an enigma, a ghost, since the day he entered our lives. We know next to nothing about the bugger."

"You start where you always do: with what you do know." Lifting a hand, she rubbed his shoulder. "But you don't need me to tell you that, Boss. So what are you going to do?"

Remington returned his focus to her necklace. As it had been since the day they'd met, it was Laura herself who determined the course the investigation would take, when he recalled the words she'd said to him only a couple of short weeks before as they stood on the dock of the private island:

" _ **We**_ _ **don't sit back and wait for whatever is thrown at us next. We plan, we act, we go on the offensive."**_

Straightening, he pushed away from the terrace wall and stared back towards the interior of the flat.

"To start, it's time to send the LAPD on their way," he told her decisively, then strode back into the apartment. Approaching Jarvis he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Jarvis, if your men have all that can be collected, you may want to go 'round to Laura's loft. I'm sure there's plenty there for you to gather."

Jarvis gave him a perplexed look. "Was the conversation that he heard," he jacked his thumb towards Muprhy, "recorded?"

"Not to my knowledge." He glanced at Murphy who shook his head in the negative. "Unless we both miss our guess, however, I believe Roselli's been staying in the loft since his arrival back in LA." Jarvis scratched his head.

"How do you figure that?"

"He's been using Laura's bathroom as a dark room. Duplicate photos to the one he sent Laura last time he was here were hanging throughout."

"Were?" Jarvis asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Among others. None of which will come to light unless absolutely necessary for his prosecution." Remington gave him a look that dared Jarvis to challenge him. Jarvis chose not to.

"Alright men, let's head on out," he called to the officers in the bedroom. "Meet me at Holt's loft," Jarvis ordered, as the men traipsed out of the apartment. He turned to Remington. "Mr. Steele, regardless of past… misunderstandings… I'm truly sorry for what you and Miss Holt are going through. She sure as hell doesn't deserve this. And I assure you, we'll do whatever we can to catch the man." Remington's only answer was a curt nod.

Closing the door to the flat, he turned to the people in the room. He looked from Murphy, to Monroe, then from Mildred to Bernice.

"I don't imagine any one of us are interested in allowing Laura's fate to rest in the hands of the illustrious LAPD, are we?" he queried.

"Not a chance in hell," Mildred answered succinctly.

"You know our motto, old friend," Monroe only commented.

"That I do," Remington acknowledged. "Murphy, Bernice?"

"You don't even have to ask, Steele," Murphy replied.

"She'd do it for any one of us," Bernice noted.

"Excellent," Remington answered, with a slap of his hands. "Mildred, I need you to go to the office. I need you to find every piece of property Roselli's ever owned, any vehicle that is currently in his name. Addresses. The address of any place he's ever lived, going back to when he used to play in the puddling pool. Check police records in those locales to see if there have been any complaints ever filed against the man. Also," he tapped his forehead with a finger, willing the fleeting thought to return. He snapped is fingers as it did. "Bank accounts, credit cards, any funds at his disposal. Identify them, then we'll have our friends at the LAPD freeze any liquid assets he has to his name. He'll need funds to travel."

"And the airlines, Boss?" He shook his head in the negative.

"He won't risk Laura revealing she's been kidnapped and he can't very well carry her unconscious onto public transportation." Another thought occurred to him. "Mildred, if you wouldn't mind manning the office until we get her home? I don't want to take the risk that she tries to contact us and finds no one there."

"You got it, Boss." Remington eyed her up and down.

"How did you get here?"

"Taxi." Remington shook his head.

"Jason would you mind—"

"Not at all," he agreed before the thought was finished. "Whatever I can do to help." Leaning down, he pressed his lips against Bernice's cheek, then escorted Mildred out the door.

"Monroe, if you wouldn't mind reaching out to all our contacts on the streets? Have them start spreading the word. Let them know there will be a reward involved for any information leading to finding my wife." Monroe gave him a swift nod and departed for the kitchen.

"Jocelyn, I'm sorry to ask this of you. Would you go over to the loft and forward the phone to here?" She nodded and stood.

"I will, and I'll get it cleaned up while I'm there." He shook his head vehemently.

"That's not necessary. I wouldn't ask—"

"I know you wouldn't and it _is_ necessary. Consider it part of my contribution. On the way back, I'll pick up dinner."

"Thank you," he breathed out gratefully.

"This is Laura we're talking about, Remington. Consider me your girl Friday until she's home." Plucking her purse up off of the entry way table, she left the apartment.

"Bernice, I'm afraid we'll need you to put those old shorthand skills to use. We'll need you recording everything we say, no matter how trivial. And, if we wander afield, draw us back on course, if you don't mind."

"Where can I find paper and pencil?"

"Paper in the entry way table. Pencil, bottom drawer of the nightstand on the right side of the bed. You'll find several." He turned to Sherry.

"Sherry, I hate to ask, but if you might keep the coffee flowing? I suspect we'll be in need of a great deal of it."

"Absolutely. I may also be able to help give you a profile of Roselli," she offered.

"How would you go about that?" he inquired, leaning forward.

"Listening, mainly. Everything you uncover about him reveals a part of his psyche, his motivations. It could help you predict what he'll do next, how he'll respond to certain situations." Remington nodded thoughtfully.

"I'd be most grateful then." Nodding, she rose from her seat to attend to making coffee.

With a sigh and a swipe of his hand through his hair, Remington faced Murphy. The relationship between the two men had never been what one might call friendly. Murphy's had always been suspicious of Remington's intentions, both towards the Agency and Laura. A suspicion Remington had to reluctantly admit was well-founded when he'd initially swiped the identity of Remington Steele for himself. Yet as the year had worn on and he'd become less the bumbling fool and more the semi-proficient investigator, Remington also believed Murphy should have given him his due. However, the instant connection between Laura and Remington when coupled with Murphy's own crush on her created a gap far too wide to breach. They'd settled into a grudging form of peace, if for no reason other than out of fear of what Laura might do to them should they continue battling on.

Then, of course, there as the fact that Murphy had never let go of his doubts about Remington. Whenever he and Laura spoke, he would take the time to list Remington's prior transgressions then to point to all the reasons he believed Laura should not trust him. Given the years Remington had spent trying to earn just that, her trust, he couldn't help but believe absent Murphy's constant nagging she may have come around sooner.

Now, they were allies, of a sort, drawn together out of their mutual concern for her. Remington drew a hand across his mouth before speaking.

"Michaels, I know you've many more years of experience than I at this, but—" Murphy held up his hand.

"Say no more. She's your wife and partner, you take lead. If I think you're missing something or screwing up, I'll let you know." Murphy fairly smirked at the last, earning a faint smile from Remington. "So where do we start?"

Remington stood and retrieved the envelope Murphy had sent Laura weeks before. Dropping it on the table between them, he nodded at it.

"With what we know."

* * *

Sometime after dark, Laura slowly woke from a deep, drug induced sleep, a soft smile playing against her lips. Reaching behind herself, her hand automatically sought to find the warmth of Remington's flesh. She quietly laughed to herself. Not for the first time she recognized how quickly, how easily she'd become accustomed to sleeping with their bodies wrapped around one another in some form or fashion. _But, then again, look whose body I'm referring to,_ she smiled to herself. _Warm flesh, covered by soft, silky hair that begs me to bury my fingers in it, to rub my face against it. All over top of long, lean, firm muscle. And beneath it all, the warm, gentle, passionate, incredibly loving man that he is._

Her reverie was broken when her hand found only air. Eyes still closed, her brow furrowed, the lack of even the bed beneath her seeking fingers confounding her. _Couch. Must've fallen asleep on the couch._ Her hand crossed over her body and found the back of said couch. But her sensitive fingers realized at once that the material was all wrong. Vinyl not cloth. Rousing herself fully from sleep, she moved to sit up, to get her bearings, figure out where she was.

Only to find that her right hand was secured to something, by something. That realization woke her brain enough for it to zero in on the fact that her hand was asleep, painfully so. Giving her hand a hard tug, the clanking of metal against metal told her she'd been handcuffed to something.

She forced leaden eyelids open, staring upwards into a cloth covered ceiling. Reaching her left hand above her head, she discovered the handle to a car door. Her hand retreated to rub at sleep blurred eyes, while she sought understanding of her situation. _Think, Holt, think,_ she urged herself.

It began coming back to her. Slowly at first, picking up speed, until the memories pounded at her.

An unwelcome guest at the loft. Remington's lips and warm breath caressing her shoulder before he left their apartment to secure her old home. Roselli… Roselli suddenly there. Her fingers explored her cheekbone. She winced. The punch. '…the hard way or the easy way.' Her fingers moved upwards, found the cut near her hairline. After that… nothing.

Body aching, she shoved herself up into a sitting position, feeling through her hair for a bobby pin. _Ponytail, damn it,_ she griped to herself. Craning her head forward, she saw the front seat was empty. A similar look out the car windows indicated Roselli had parked them somewhere in the woods. Her eyes returned to the front of the car. No keys in the ignition. _Damn._ Straining forward, she opened the storage console between the seats. Rooting around blind, she found no sign of the car keys, only several folder papers she assumed were maps, and a marker, presumably to mark the route. She stashed the marker under the passenger seat, then turned to examine the handle she was attached to. _Two screws, that's it. My Swiss Army knife in my purse at home. I guess it's the hard way then._

She only flicked a glance at her left ankle before planting both feet against the door to give her leverage and gripping the handle with both hands, used her legs and body weight to pry on the handle. After the fourth attempt she felt the handle give a little. On the sixth, the right side snapped free propelling her backwards onto the seat. Scrambling to her hands and knees, she peered out the windows. Still no sign of Roselli. Slowly she eased open the door, then sidled from the car. Crouching low, she made her way to the rear end. She mentally cataloged the New Jersey license plate number – 556-IZO – before turning her attention to the car itself: an older model, Oldsmobile Cutlass sedan, brown with a light tan vinyl roof.

Ignoring the hot pain in her left ankle, she crab walked to the other side of the car, searching for the least amount of foliage to make her way through. Once the ideal spot was determined, she sprinted towards freedom. Looking back over her shoulder towards the car, she lamented the fact that she hadn't thought to remove the bulb from the interior light before opening the door, and could only hope that oversight would not alert Roselli too soon.

A dozen steps into the woods, she nearly plowed full-on into Roselli. Her face registering her shock, she quickly veered right, away from him.

"Laura!" he roared. The sight of her untethered and free, stunned him enough that his feet stalled for a split second. It was long enough for Laura to put distance between them. Ducking into thicker foliage, she stayed aligned with the path of the dirt roadway the car had driven on as best she could. Logic told her that there must be a main road from which it led. She ignored the sticks and rocks that dug into the tender skin of her feet, the crunch of Roselli's footsteps indicating he was drawing closer providing ample motivation to keep pace. She cut closer to the road still realizing she'd be able to gain more speed on firmer ground. She had to duck quickly under a low hanging limb and had the satisfaction, a half dozen steps further away, when she heard Roselli let lose a string of colorful words, apparently not avoiding the limb himself.

The timing seemed ideal. She darted towards the road, daring a quick look back, almost smiling when he was nowhere in sight. Clearing the last of the foliage, her feet touched the road. Despite the rocks that sliced at her feet, the better purchase allowed her to increase her pace as she'd suspected. Hope soared as she saw the dirt road end at a dark roadway ahead. _Asphalt, civilization. The way home._ She said a small prayer for a passing car, at the same time the heel of her left foot landed on a particularly large stone. Helplessly, she yelped as her ankle rolled, and she landed hands first on the road. She suffocated the mewl that rose from her throat in reaction to the hot pain radiating from the scrapes and gouges.

Pushing herself up on her hands and knees, she dared a look behind her to see Roselli emerging from the foliage, the sound of her cry out guiding him to her path. Forcing herself back to her feet, she ignored his bellowing, ignored the nearly blinding pain in her ankle and pressed forward. She made it half the distance between she and the road, when Roselli tackled her from behind, taking her down hard. Her forehead bounced on the packed dirt causing bright lights to explode behind her eyes. This time she made no attempt to quell her cry of pain, as more tender flesh on legs, arms and hands was cut and bruised at impact. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers digging deep into the flesh he yanked her to her feet when he stood.

"Where do you think you were going, Laura?" he panted, as he propelled her forward by the hand on her neck. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Sightseeing," she ground out between gnashed teeth.

"Why are you determined to make this unpleasant?" he growled, giving her another little shove to emphasize his unhappiness.

"I've discovered that being kidnapped makes me a bit testy," she replied acerbically.

"You're making this harder on yourself than you need to. You'll see. With Steele gone, it won't take you long to feel that old connection, that juice—"

"Have you completely taken leave of your mind?" She asked, appalled at the mere suggestion. "Setting aside for a moment the fact that I'm a happily married woman, do you honestly believe that kidnapping and assault are preludes to seduction?"

"Maybe you just need a reminder of what we felt." She planted both feet into the ground, making him stumble. She gasped quietly when he dug his fingers into both sides of her neck to express his dissatisfaction. She tried to shake him off. He mockingly laughed at her, then forced her to turn to face him. Before she could ascertain what he was about, his lips were on hers.

She struggled to break her lips free of his, but he only pulled on her neck to force her closer while his free hand dared to cup her breast. Thoroughly revolted and feeling unaccountably ashamed, she sunk her teeth into his lower lip. He howled, and backed away, as blood trickled from the lacerated flesh. A flat palm slapped her hard across the face, sending her sprawling back down onto the dirt road.

She pushed herself up on her arms, head hanging down as she panted against the pain radiating through her face, hands and legs once again. "I told you… to keep… your hands… off of me," she managed to force out.

Grabbing her by the arm, he yanked her to the feet. "I wouldn't bother waiting around for Steele to show up if I were you, Laura," he sneered while propelling her towards the car again.

"There is one thing I know with absolute certainty, Roselli," Laura said, with an upward tilt of her chin. "Remington _will_ find me, because he won't know how to do otherwise." Her mind wandered to the year before when Remington had disappeared. "It's what we do. We bring each other home."

"You think so, huh?" He laughed a malicious laugh.

"Not think, Roselli, know," she told him with a confidence that she felt to the depth of her soul.

Having reached the car, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. Unlocking the dangling cuff he shoved her in the car, then attached the loose cuff to the metal frame of the seat. Reaching over the front seat, he brought back the small, brown paper bag. Opening it, he extracted a small vial and a syringe. Filling the syringe halfway, when he recalled his lacerated lip, he doubled the dose.

"It's time for you and me to have a little fun," he grinned maniacally. As the needle neared her arm, Laura frantically bucked, using her untethered arm to try to shove Roselli away. He merely laughed at her efforts. Twisting her arm forcefully until she cried out, he stabbed her in the arm with the needle, far harder than necessary. She groaned against the burn of the fluid as it was taken into her system.

Within thirty seconds, her eyes rolled as she fought the drug.

"I forgot to mention, Laura," he told her with a sinister tone. "I arranged a little surprise for your husband at your loft." Grabbing her chin, he shook her head until her eyes moved to his face. "I had a few boys waiting for him. Big boys. Their instructions were clear: carve up that pretty face of his before finishing him off." He laughed as tears welled up in her eyes. "He won't be coming for you, Laura. I promised you that I would take him out of the picture, and I did." With a final chortle, he crawled out of the backseat, then after closing the door, climbed into the front seat and started the car's engine.

"How does it feel, Laura, knowing that I had to do what I did because of you?" He taunted. "I wonder what Steele's thoughts were as it was happening? Did he blame you? I'm sure you told him that I had every intention of eliminating him unless you left, didn't you? Do you think he thought you were worth it in the end? You're alone, Laura." He heard her quiet sob at the last words, and stored the weakness away in his mind. "No one's coming to get you, accept it."

On and off throughout the five hour drive from Tuscon to Hermosillo, Mexico, Roselli repeated the refrain, taking pleasure in the pain he was inflicting. He'd decided on outside of Compton that if she failed to cooperate again, he would alter his plan. Instead of bedding then abandoning her, he'd break her. The thought of Steele getting back a wife who had lost her faculties, who would never be what she once was because of him, gave Roselli a sense of pure satisfaction.

Laura rolled to her side in the backseat. The drug coursing through her system reaped havoc on her mind. She alternated between stroking her wedding ring to experiencing hallucinations in which she helplessly watched as her husband was cut by a knife over and over until he lay still. The former would leave her aching, while the latter would often find her screaming out his name in warning then mewling over his loss. When she'd calm, letting the drug disassociate herself from it all, Roselli would start his diatribe again, and once more she'd be consumed. Shortly before they pulled over into the woods for the remainder the night, she fell into an exhausted slumber, where the nightmare Roselli had created followed and continued to torture.

* * *

Remington stood and began to pace. It was nearly midnight. Laura had been taken thirteen hours prior, and ten hours of work had produced no clues as to where Roselli might be taking her.

Jason had undertaken numerous small, but critical, tasks throughout the afternoon and evening, delivering Mildred to the office, retrieving the Rabbit from the night club with Jocelyn, then returning to the office to bring Mildred back to the flat. An hour ago, he had taken Mildred home, before retrieving Bernice to return to his parent's house to get some sleep. Monroe had sent Jocelyn home nearly two hours before. Now, only Remington, Murphy, Sherry and Monroe remained.

Mildred, God bless her, had spent hours on the Agency computer searching state-by-state for any vehicles or properties owned by Roselli. The only thing she'd been able to add to the information Murphy had put together previously, was that Roselli had inherited a house in Arizona back in 1976 which he sold three years later. During the same period he'd owned a car, but it was no longer registered in Arizona and there were no sale records attached to it. She'd departed the flat vowing that she'd be back at the Agency and on her computer by dawn's early light.

"Murphy, Sherry, go home. We'll start again first thing on the morrow," Remington told them, then turned to Monroe. "Yourself as well, mate."

"Ah, yes, I don't believe that is in the cards, old friend," Monroe refused. Remington prepared to argue, but seeing the look in Monroe's eyes realized there was little point in bothering. Slapping his friend on the back of his arm, he gave him a look of gratitude. Monroe showed Murphy and Sherry to the door as Remington disappeared into his bedroom.

"Keep a close eye on him. He's a walking time bomb," Murphy warned Monroe.

"It is not his anger that concerns me, but the fear and self-blame that is yet to arrive," Monroe explained.

"Encourage him to get some sleep. If that fails, get him talking. Either will help reduce the chance that his mind will just shut down out of self-preservation," Sherry advised. Monroe nodded somberly at her words, then shut the door behind the couple. Retrieving pillow, sheet and blanket from the closet in Laura and Remington's room, Monroe made his makeshift bed for the evening on the couch, then lay down and waited.


	7. Chapter 7: You Always Go Back

_Day Two_

 _Sunday, October 19, 1986_

If he'd thought to find some small amount of comfort, some sense of normalcy in showering before bed as he normally would, Remington would have been wrong. Instead, it seemed to emphasize the loss of Laura all the more. His fingers danced across the bristles of her brush before he turned to lift her robe from the hook on the door, bringing it up to his face and inhaling deeply the scent of her that still lingered there. His heart thumped painfully, the reminder of her both comforting and bitter at the same time.

He forced himself into the shower, completing the task in record time, the memories of showers shared, the laughter, the touches… the nearness, almost too much to bear. In their room, he quickly dressed – lounge pants and a t-shirt instead of the pajamas he would normally wear. As soon as his hand had touched the silk of his pajama bottoms, her voice had seemed to echo in the room around him.

" _ **Lose the shirt."**_

Retrieving his clothing from the bathroom, out of habit if for no other reason, he withdrew her necklace from his pants' pocket then tossed the clothes in the hamper. Almost reverently, he placed her necklace in her jewelry box so it could await Laura to put it back on again. He slid into bed hoping that sleep would allow him to escape, if only briefly, the waking nightmare in which they were trapped.

Sleep did not come. Thoughts and memories collided, dragging his mood ever downward. For years, Laura had pushed him away, afraid she'd wake one day and find he'd left without so much as a backward glance. Despite the number of times she ended their personal relationship, despite her flirtation with another man on their honeymoon, never once had he questioned what would happen if she left, and he was the one left holding nothing but a scrapbook of memories.

Once more he acknowledged Laura's words on the island had been almost prophetic.

" _ **You? You're tucked into every area of my life. You are my partner at work, my best friend outside of it. My lover. My husband. We share a business, a home. If you go, you take everything. No partner to chase mysteries with. No friend to turn to. No lover to lose myself in. No husband to dream of the future with."**_

Now that was he left behind, he understood all too well the fear that had driven her for years. How would he pick up the shattered pieces of his life if she never came home? Returning to his old life held no appeal, in fact, even the mere thought of it felt like a betrayal to her. She'd given him a role, a job, a life of purpose that he took great pride in, with little more than her instincts telling her he was worth the effort, the risk to what she held most dear.

Could he continue on the Agency in her stead? He laughed a quiet, mirthless laugh. Of the two of them, she was the one with the spine of steel, not he. In an instant he knew he'd be incapable of walking through the Agency doors day-after-day, seeing her office, knowing she was not there. The idea of taking on a new partner, even the thought, turned his stomach sour. He enjoyed what they did, felt as though what they did made a difference in people's lives, perhaps even made their lives a little bit richer. But, he would be deceiving himself if he denied that the biggest lure of the job was the partner with whom he worked. No, he'd not be able to return to the Agency. As he'd recognized the day prior, the Agency was Laura's dream, the life they'd been creating together was his. There would be no joy left behind those doors, only loss.

He shoved the sheets aside and rose from the bed, pacing the confines of their room. _This type of thinking is of no help to Laura, old sport_ , he reprimanded himself. When he'd taken flight the year before, she hadn't stood around and waited for word. She'd used her skills as an investigator, the technology they had at hand, and had set out to find him. He owed her no less now.

He journeyed into the living room, not surprised in the least to find Monroe awake, keeping watch over him. Absent Laura, and once Daniel, Monroe knew him perhaps better than anyone. They'd tramped across the Caribbean with one another during the days they dabbled in smuggling. After Anna's 'death,' Remington had sought solace in the once familiar islands and the friend that had offered him a quiet, steady strength. He was, in fact, one of the few people to whom Remington would attach the moniker of 'friend,' rather than 'acquaintance,' 'fellow miscreant,' or 'someone I once knew.' And, here, before him, was the reason why.

"It's just you and I now, old friend. So tell me," Monroe prompted quietly.

Remington sank down into a chair, resting chin against knuckles as he propped his elbow on the armrest, laying stricken eyes on the other man. "The images," he waved his other hand randomly towards his head, "they won't stop. Where is she? How is she? Has he harmed her further?" His voice broke. His fingers lifted to press against his lips. Closing his eyes, he wrestled down his emotions. "She's paying the price for my failures. Mine!" He shoved himself up from the chair, guilt and anger colliding, sending him into a brisk pace back-and-forth across the room. "Had I told her when the INS first contacted me. Had I trusted her to stand by me. Had I not fallen back on old ways, trying to slide once past the INS," he shook his head, admitting the first time, "… Laura. Had I believed that the arrival of the INS wouldn't have cost me her, but instead that we would've figured out a way together." He stilled, pressing a finger against his lips. "Have you any idea what it does to me to know that, no matter the reason for the man's obsession with her, it was my own failures that put this into play? Roselli would have never been part of our lives, would never had cause to meet Laura, if I had done one… only one thing differently." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I hadn't thought it possible to hurt her more than I had with…" he swallowed hard "…Clarissa, not trusting her. You didn't see her in those days after, Monroe. But somehow, still, she found a way to forgive me." He shook his head, and raked troubled fingers through his hair. "Now, the man that I brought into her life has not only harmed her three times, but has her at his mercy. How do I live with myself if something…" he stumbled on the words "…happens to her, if we don't find her? How do I pick up the pieces on and go on?" Flopping none too elegantly back down into the chair, he rested his face in propped hand, his voice lowering. "What if I can't find her and bring her home? What if I fail her when she needs me most?"

Monroe scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "It seems you've forgotten our old creed, Mick – a creed that holds as true to this life as it did our old." Remington flicked his eyes up to look at the man, but held silent. "We live in the present because the past is unchangeable, from it we can only learn and we have no control over the capriciousness of the future." Lifting his head from hand, Remington scrubbed at his mouth and nodded in agreement. "Will you repeat the mistakes that you mentioned?"

"And risk again what means everything to me? Do you need to ask?"

"No, but maybe you needed to answer. You've learned the lessons that the past holds, getting lost in it will do our Laura no good, but should it distract you enough, it could do more harm." Remington nodded slowly.

"I understand your point."

"So we address the present. Is failing even an option?" Monroe pose the question, although the answer was undeniable.

"No, not at all."

"Then we set that aside as well. So what has been missed? That seems to be the only question that matters, in my eyes."

"I don't know. I don't know," Remington answered resignedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Then we start fresh. Just some questions at first."

Remington settled back in the chair, propping his feet on the table. "Alright," he agreed.

"In our old life, when we found ourselves in need of a place to plan or to recuperate, where did we take refuge?"

"Somewhere known to us, but not necessarily others. A place where we would be undisturbed if that is what we wished." Monroe hummed and nodded his agreement.

"It would seem to me, given what I heard today regarding his escapades in Mexico City and now with our Laura, a man like him would need such a place."

Remington suddenly bolted upright. "'You come back to every place sooner or later.'"

"Aye," Monroe nodded again.

"You don't understand," Remington told him, waving his hand at the air. "It's something Laura once told me during a case. When DesCoines framed me and I lighted out on my own, it was how she knew to find me. The acid baths, where DesCoines' partner in crime had killed herself. "Las Hadas. I'd wager all that I have on it. He's taking her back to where it all began, to where he arranged for us to all cross paths the first time."

With an answer in hand, a former thief's mind began to work and meticulously plan the first stages of recovering the most precious jewel he'd ever coveted.

"Monroe, I need one of those cellular phones, the ones you can take with you anywhere. Can you put your hands on one?"

"At this time of the evening, I cannot. But certainly in the morning I can have one in hand and programmed by no later than nine."

Remington stood and strode quickly across the room to the phone, dialing the number for the loft. Murphy, unable to sleep as well, snatched it up on the first ring.

"What have you found?" he asked without preamble, never questioning who it was.

"Can you be packed and at my flat by eight-thirty?" Murphy sat up in bed abruptly.

"You know where she is? What are we waiting for, then?" Murphy demanded to know.

"I've an idea where she is or will be. Back where this nightmare began." Murphy's brain raced and quickly found the answer.

"Las Hadas."

"Aye. I think we need to pay a visit on Conchita Guitierrez to start."

"I'll be there, Steele."

"I appreciate that. In the morning then." Disconnecting the line, he waited for the dial tone and dialed again.

"Krebs," Mildred answered, her voice roughened by sleep.

"Sorry for waking you, Mildred, but I need your talent at making the impossible happen."

"Boss?" she asked, sitting up in bed and opening the bedside table drawer, grabbing paper and pen. "Have you found Mrs. Steele?"

"Soon, Mildred, soon," he promised. "Right now I need you to find me a private jet and a couple of pilots, leaving out of…" he snapped his fingers several times, trying to recall the name of the private airport where he'd picked up Daniel several years before, "…ah… Whiteman Airport between nine-thirty and ten. I don't care what it costs, just make it happen. You can transfer the funds from our private checking."

"On it. Boss? Bring Mrs. Steele home." The last was said in the voice of a worried mother.

"I plan on it, Mildred." Hanging up the phone, he returned to stand in front of Monroe.

"Monroe, I've a favor to ask of you."

"All you have to do is ask."

"As much as I'd like you along for this little sojourn of ours, I need you to handle a few things here on the home front. I don't care how much you have to throw at it, I want us moved into the house before I return with Laura. I don't want her returning to the memories of what happened here today. Mildred has both of our Power of Attorneys and can sign whatever contracts are required. Offer the services of your men to pack and relocate all of the present owner's belongings. I'll have Mildred contact the furniture store and expedite the pieces we've purchased. Laura and I have sketched out where everything is to go. I'd appreciate you overseeing that personally."

"Consider it done. Anything else?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I want state of the art alarm systems on the flat, apartment and house as quickly as possible. Needless to say, Mildred may use my checking account carte blanche to cover any expenses for all of it."

"I'll see to it that it's used well," Monroe drawled. Remington barked out a laugh.

"I'm sure you will. Get some sleep mate."

In their bedroom, Remington pulled one of his suitcases and one of Laura's from the closet. He made short order of packing up a selection of more casual clothing for each of them, undergarments, then several pairs of his pajamas, forgoing packing any of Laura's nightclothes. A trip to the bathroom saw their robes packed, then grabbing Laura's smallest suitcase, he packed it full of a selection of shoes. Frowning, her rummaged through the bottom of the closet and added her boot to the mix.

Extracting his shave kit and Laura's overnight kit next from the closet, he tossed a selection of cosmetics into her bag, along with brush, tooth brush, a variety of hair ties and clips, as well as other essentials. His kit was packed in short order. He paused, picking up Laura's package of birth control off the counter. Mentally counting, he tossed the partial pack into her bag, then added to that a new pack from her drawer along with two boxes of tampons. Another pause, and he raided their first aid supplies, everything from bandaids, to bandages to Tylenol finding its way into her bag as well.

A final pause saw him returning to their bedroom where he dropped their personal toiletry bags next to their suitcases, before he pulled a drawer out of his dresser. Flipping it over, he removed the envelope taped to its underside. For good measure, he stuffed the passports for Joanna and Mark Wallace into the zippered pocket of his suitcase.

Task complete and sleep no more than an illusion, Remington nicked his sketchbook and pencils from his bedside table and retreated to the lounge on the terrace. With a talented hand, the lines on a fresh page soon took on the resemblance of Laura, sitting at the end of a dock, with the Pacific as her backdrop. When his thoughts wandered to all the what if's that had brought them to this point, he forcibly set them aside. Instead, he focused on when he'd next see her and how it would feel to have her safely ensconced in his arms. His last thought came after dawn, as his pencil slipped from lax fingers and heavy lids finally closed: N _o one is taking this from us._


	8. Chapter 8: Don't Believe Everything

Laura couldn't say for sure what woke her. Was it the pounding headache? Or her bladder so full it was verging on painful? Or was it simply that for the first time she could remember in hours, the car held still. Pushing herself up on her knees, she peered out the windows. The sun was just rising and the car was parked alongside a gas pump at a ramshackle old gas station that seemed to be located in the middle of nowhere. She considered screaming for help, but given the lack of people around it seemed such an act would not only be unproductive, but would likely enrage Roselli again. She had no idea what he'd injected her with after her attempted escape the evening before, but whatever it was, her stomach was twisting and turning, her head pounding, and she still felt an odd sense of her body and mind not quite connecting.

Leaning over and rummaging for the marker that she'd shoved under the front passenger sheet, she tucked it into her pocket. While escape might not be an option at this stop, perhaps leaving a message was. She examined the lacerated and bruised bottoms of her feet, prodding them carefully and sucking in her breath at the particularly deep cuts. The redness already surrounding a couple of the wounds concerned her, but unless she could sway Roselli to buy some first aid supplies, there was little she could do.

She jumped slightly when Roselli opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then put on the most passive, cooperative façade she could muster.

"Tony? I need to use the ladies room." He glanced at her through the rear view mirror, then narrowing his eyes, shook his head.

"After your games last night, I don't think so," he growled. "We'll stop in the woods just up ahead, where I can keep an eye on you." Laura blanched at the thought. Her bladder would burst before she'd pee in front of the man.

"Tony, please. You can stand at the door if you need to. But I'm not going to attempt to run, if that's what you're worried about. It will be a struggle just to make it to the bathroom with my feet the way they are right now." Lips narrowing, he considered her words. He shook his head, clearly unsure.

"Let me go check it out. If there's more than one exit, no deal." Climbing back out of the car, he retrieved the key to the women's room from the clerk in the store, then turned the corner of the building. He was back at the car shortly, opening her door.

"No other doors, no window." Uncuffing her wrist, he pulled her from the car, then took her hand, gripping it painfully. "I'll be right here. You have 5 minutes. Use the bathroom, clean those feet if you want. After 5 minutes, I'm coming in after you. Capiche?" She nodded, as she gingerly walked towards the back of the building with him.

Once inside the bathroom, she quickly relieved herself in the lone stall. Pulling the marker from her shorts, she scribbled on the back of the stall door:

' _Help! Reward. $$$. Laura Steele. Kidnapped. Call the Remington Steele Agency. 212-555-9458. Older model, Oldsmobile Cutlass Sedan. 4 doors. Brown with tan vinyl roof. New Jersey license plate, 556-IZO. Heading south. Anthony Roselli, abductor.'_

Placing the marker back in her pocket, she flushed the toilet then made her way carefully over to the sink. Seeing no paper towels and unwilling to return to the stall lest Roselli catch her there, she lifted a foot into the sink and allowed the water to run over it, trying to remove as much of the dirt and debris as possible. Once the second foot was complete, she scrubbed her hands well, then scooped water by the handful to drink. When Roselli pounded on the door, she dutifully went outside to meet him.

"Thank you." The two words were all she spoke as she cooperatively accompanied Roselli back to the car. Once she was again cuffed, they were on their way.

She was surprised when only a few miles down the road, Roselli turned the car down a dirt lane and turned off the ignition. Joining her in the back seat, he opened a grocery bag and handed her a sandwich and a bottle of water. Not having eaten since the sandwich Remington had prepared her in the early morning hours on Saturday after her night out with Bernice, her mouth watered and hands shook slightly at the sight. Opening the plastic wrapper, she took a large bite of the sandwich, closing her eyes at the taste. It could have been three-day old meat on seven-day old bread and it would have still been the best thing she'd tasted in a month. Scrunching her face at her faux pas, she silently said an apology to her husband.

It wasn't until then that the memories of what Roselli had told her the evening before surfaced. She sucked in a breath as despair washed over her, her entire body starting to tremble. She started choking on the food still in her mouth. Desperately opening the bottle of water, she drank half the bottle before the coughing stopped.

"Last night. What you said..." she couldn't say the words. "Why? What has he ever done to you?"

He smirked at her. "I've told you before. I was tired of him getting in my way. The great Remington Steele," he intoned sarcastically. "Everything came so easily to him. Anything he wanted just falling into his lap." She stared at him, open mouthed.

"You don't know him. You don't know _anything about him_." She half-laughed, half-sobbed, willing her tears back. "That man has known more loss… has seen more of the worst side of humanity than _anyone_ I know. He's not who he is, he doesn't have what he does because it came easily to him. _He fought, he scraped_ nearly his entire life just to survive. _Handed to him?"_ She shook her head in disgust.

"But in the end, he still ended up with it all, didn't he?" he asked, bitterly. "Until I took it all away, of course. How do you think he felt in that alleyway, Laura, knowing that in the end it was you that cost him everything?"

Her hand pressed against her stomach as it rolled. She began rocking back and forth, unknowingly, trying to sooth herself. "'Don't believe everything you hear on the radio,'" she mumbled. She reminded herself that she only had Roselli's word that Remington was gone, and the man was anything but trustworthy. Releasing her stomach, she lifted the bottle of water to her mouth with a shaking hand, hoping to quell the queasiness, rocking all the while.

"What's the matter? Does it bother you to know that his last thought as my men were carving that pretty face of his was that he would have been better off leaving your cheating ass when he had a chance?" Laura shook her head vehemently, spilling some of the water.

"I _never_ cheated on Remington, not once. Since the day he walked into my life, it was only him. _He knew that."_ She didn't know who she was trying to convince, Roselli or herself. _Westfield. Him. One an escape, another revenge. Nothing happened with either of them, at least of significance, but does that mean anything at all if he felt betrayed, abandoned? Oh God, Remington._ Her breath hitched as she felt the stirrings of panic building at the edge of her mind.

"Did he, Laura? I saw the look on his face in the villa at Las Hadas, in your apartment, on the train. It wasn't the look of a man that had faith his 'wife' was committed to either him or their marriage." She bit her lip hard, willing the tears not to come. "No, I'm betting he regretted ever knowing you while he lay bleeding in that alley."

She visibly flinched at his last words. _I'd know if he was gone. In my heart, I'd know._ ' _Don't believe everything you hear on the radio,' (_ Citizen Kane, Joseph Cotten, Dorothy Comingore, RKO, 1941). She gave a short laugh, thinking her Mr. Steele would be proud that she'd remembered. Her mind flitted back to Roselli's words. _I won't believe it until I have proof. He's not gone, he's not._ The world tilted crazily before her eyes, making her stomach lurch again. She struggled to think, yet part of her recognized the feeling overcoming her and its familiarity. Her eyes nearly crossed when she looked at the water bottle in her hand. "What have you done, Tony?"

Taking her chin in his hand, he turned Laura's head to that he could look at her. Laughing, he released it.

"For someone who's supposedly a razor sharp P.I. you sure are stupid, Laura." She tried to frown at him, but instead shook her head, trying to clear it.

"Cyanide in the soup," she slurred.

"I see you're getting the gist of it," he laughed.

" _Notorious_. Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, RKO, 1946," she continued, not hearing him. _That's two, Remington._ She gagged as the dizziness slammed into her again. She lay her head back on the seat as her eyes rolled.

Roselli got out of the car and returned to the driver's seat, starting the car. When they were on the road again, he began a steady streams of taunts, just as he'd done night before.

She tried to shut out Roselli's voice, humming quietly to herself in the backseat: Tony Bennett's _For Once In My Life_ , that she and Remington had danced to in New York; Chopin's _Prelude in E Minor_ that had played as she'd walked down the aisle to her husband on their wedding day; and, of course, the song that always reminded Remington of them, _As Time Goes By._ Still, she flinched each time Roselli began a new round of questions, of finger pointing. She stroked the back of her wedding band with her thumb as visions of that last morning together and Remington lying in an alley, injured and alone, traipsed through her mind. _I won't believe it until I have proof, I won't._ But in the corner of her mind that always feared she'd be left alone, she began to believe.

* * *

Murphy arrived at the apartment at seven-thirty, well before their agreed upon departure time. He wanted to take time to go through the files he'd sent Laura one last time before the wheels of the plane lifted off the ground. He'd slept little. Over and over throughout the long night he replayed the conversation he'd had with Laura while she and Remington were in Cannes. For months, out of the blue, two short sentences she'd said to him that day would repeat in his mind.

" _ **He didn't, Murphy. I did."**_

The statement had bothered him to his core. Laura and Steele had somehow attracted the attention of what Sherry was now insisting was a sociopath, and according to Laura, it was at her hand. Since the day Steele had arrived on their doorstep, with the vast exception of when Steele had somehow managed to offend her personally, she had taken great care to downplay his mistakes. She had not once, however, outright lied. That told him that whatever had put Roselli on their tails, she was taking full responsibility for it.

Yet, he couldn't imagine that from Laura, of all people. Since Jeffries had walked out on her, she was the epitome of caution. If anything, she took caution to excess. She offered her trust to few, invited even less into her life. The only exception he could recall across the years was the man to whom she was now married. Even then, trust had been years in coming.

Now, he couldn't help but believe a large piece of the puzzle was being secreted, and that piece would go a large way in explaining how they'd gotten to this point.

He arrived at the flat as Monroe was departing.

"Did Steele get any sleep?"

"Little. He was still up at dawn. Ensconced himself on the terrace after we spoke," Monroe tilted his head in the direction of the terrace. "I have little doubt sleep will not be his companion until Laura is safe."

"He's not alone in that," Murphy commented absently.

"No, he is not. Laura is very dear to many," Monroe commiserated, slapping Murphy lightly on the shoulder. "I shall return shortly. I've an errand to run for my friend before you depart. There is fresh coffee, should you wish to enjoy a cup, brewed and waiting in the kitchen."

When Monroe departed, Murphy took the other man up on his suggestion. Cup of coffee on hand, he waked to the terrace doors and saw Steele dozing on the lounge, pad of paper listing dangerously towards the side of the chair, pencil already lying on the ground. Setting his cup of coffee on the table, he crossed the expanse to rescue whatever Steele had been working on. Picking up the pencil and pad, he returned to the table where his coffee waited, and laid it down.

He stilled when he saw the sketch Steele had been working on when sleep had finally descended. Eyes widening, without thought Murphy picked up the pad and thumbed randomly through the pages. He was stunned by both content and expertise exhibited. Laura and Steele's love affair was chronicled throughout page-after-page. Even those sketches that were not flagrantly of them, the touch of the detail carefully rendered showed clearly that they were. The back of a man's hand, resting in the palm of a woman's, a single finger tracing the lines in his palm. Laura's wedding and engagement rings were drawn in extraordinary detail making it clear the woman's hands were, in fact, hers. The sketch was titled, "Before We Sleep." Murphy shook his head and thumbed further back, stopping at a sketch that depicted Steele on the beach, holding a pair of shoes and a dress, head hung, leaning against the Rabbit. The heavier lines of the picture clearly conveyed the angst of the man drawn. The title, "The Cost", made him raise his brows. Another random turn of the pages found him staring at a rendering entitled, "Everything." Steele and Laura spooned together in sleep, their joined hands tucked up against her.

He set the book down, carefully returning it to the page on which Steele had last been working, suddenly feeling like a voyeur, which he was in a way. He turned to thoughtfully considering the man sleeping on the lounge. With a shake of his head, he picked up his cup of coffee and adjourned to the living room, intent on reviewing the files.

He found he couldn't concentrate, his mind wandering back to those sketches.

He readily admitted he'd been suspicious of Steele's motives the moment Laura had installed him as the mythical Remington Steele. He'd have to have been blind not to see the instantaneous attraction between the two, when he'd first appeared in the office as Ben Pierson. When the man's duplicity had been revealed, he believed Laura had seen the man for what he was and that, as they say, would be that. Only it wasn't.

Along came the day, during the Ratoon Games case, that she'd come into the office with stars in her eyes. He'd decided then and there that it was time for he and Laura Holt to have a heart-to-heart about the infamous Remington Steele.

* * *

" _ **Laura," he'd drawled, "be careful."**_

 _ **She'd looked up from the papers she was sorting through on her desk, a frown furrowing her brow. "Be careful of what? Getting a paper cut?" She flashed him a smile at her little quip, her frown dissolving.**_

" _ **Don't forget who he is… Scratch that. We have no idea**_ _ **who**_ _ **he is. Remember what he is. Art thief. Jewel thief. Con man." The line returned between her brows, as she picked up a couple of files from her desk and moved to the filing cabinets.**_

" _ **I have no idea what you mean," she tried to side step.**_

" _ **Laura," he drew her name out. "You're forgetting who you're talking to. I know that look in your eyes. I've seen it before."**_

" _ **What look?" she asked, feigning innocence, her voice rising an octave.**_

" _ **That same look you had when Jeffries showed up on the scene." Laura flinched at the mention of Wilson, then forcibly brushed aside the feelings his name conjured. "I tried to warn you then that Jeffries couldn't keep up with you, he'd drag you down. And look what happened." He heaved a deep sigh. "I don't want to see you hurt again."**_

" _ **You have nothing to worry about," she answered airily. "There's nothing going on—"**_

" _ **Trying selling that to someone who doesn't know you," he interrupted. He walked over and leaned against the filing cabinets, looking at her. "I care about you, partner. I don't want you finding yourself in too deep when this clown gets bored with playing detective and pulls a disappearing act, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your life again."**_

" _ **Your imagination's running away with you, Murph. He and I have purely professional relationship and that's how it will remain," she said with a sharp cut of her hands, indicating that condition was definitive. "I've got to go. Ruben and I have an appointment to go over last month's numbers." As an afterthought, she leaned up and pressed a friendly kiss against his cheek. "I appreciate you looking out for me. But really, you have nothing to worry about."**_

 _ **With those words, she'd breezed out of her office.**_

* * *

He'd sat back and waited, that first year, for the day when Laura walked into the office, the light in her eyes missing, her steps subdued because Steele had finally disappeared into the misty night. Instead, he'd watched as her confidence grew. She appeared more sure of herself, perhaps because she was able to so effectively glad handle the man, as she nurtured from him the attributes she'd always imagined in her imaginary Remington Steele.

And the man himself? He not once gave a single indication that he was planning on moving on. In fact, across that same year, Murphy had watched Steele put an end to his womanizing, focusing his time and energy, for all appearances, on only one – the woman that challenged him, made demands of him, and castigated him when he stepped out of line. He'd been stunned, on a couple of occasions, to see that Laura had the power had to wound him with a cool shoulder cast his way, or overly harsh words. He seemed to crave not only the woman, but her approval. And in time, like Laura, he'd watched a calm confidence settle over the man as Laura's reliance on him grew.

Murphy could only sit back and watch as his own hopes for a future with Laura faded away. Not that they'd ever existed in the first place, he laughed quietly to himself now. No, once she'd placed him firmly in the roles of friend and partner, there was no way to wriggle out of the pigeon hole, not that he hadn't tried.

But after Jeffries had entered her life, shaken to the core her faith in who she was, then had left her alone and floundering, Laura had placed nearly all men in the same category: subsidiary to her dated someone here and someone there, but none of them ever stood a chance of sticking. If they became too serious too fast, she offered them an 'I'm sorry but I don't...' and a goodbye. If they weren't serious and simply looking for a good time in the sack, a simple 'not my thing' wrapped that up. Every man had each departed, some with regret, but not a single one had stood and fought.

Including himself.

Steele had been different from the start. She'd step back, he'd step closer. She pushed him away, he drew her back in. She turned her fierce temper on him, and he'd stand firm, alternating between amusement or a blistering return of temper. He marveled at her intelligence and openly admired the way she could link the seemingly unrelated. There wasn't a single thing the Laura Holt could throw at him that would make him sway in his pursuit.

Between the Ratoon Games and Maury Singer cases, he'd been left with no choice but to stand by and watch the woman he hoped to have a future with falling head-over-heels for her ne'er do well, presumed boss. The air between the two fairly sparked with electricity when they neared one another. Looks shared that spoke of quiet moments alone, known to no one but themselves. The touches to which Steele was predisposed increased in frequency and were readily permitted. All of it had combine to lure Murphy into making a last, desperate play for Laura. She'd been quick to let him know that what he hoped could be brought to life with them, never had a breath of a chance.

And had been very quick to set Steele straight on the kiss he'd observed Murphy steal from her.

After that day even their partnerships began to wane as Laura found more and more reasons to team up with Steele. 'For training' she'd claim, when given a questioning look. But, the reality was, as good as he and Laura were together, Steele and she were superb. They read each other so well, that one knew what the other was thinking before a word was ever spoken. They both derived a thrill from the more dangerous cases, throwing caution to the wind in order to solve a case, bestow justice.

Truth be told, Murphy personally preferred the ordinary, the mundane. The quiet cases that didn't lead you into a hail of bullets, hanging from beams many stories above the ground and didn't pose an imminent risk of arrest.

The two of them? He encouraged that wild side of her, long buried after Jeffries' constant nattering, to reveal itself, couched in professional zealousness. She in turn challenged him constantly to rise to the ideals that she'd had in mind for her fictitious Remington Steele, a challenge he'd strove to meet under the guise of projecting the image he was hired to.

Murphy shook his head again.

He'd expected them to have a torrid love affair that would leave one, or even both, picking up the pieces of their lives. What he'd not expected was what had been revealed in Steele's sketches. Commitment, quiet passion, need, joy… solidity.

He glanced towards the terrace where the man considered presumably slept on. Unless Murphy was off his mark, if Laura did not come home safe and sound, the man would find it more difficult to scrape together some semblance of a life afterwards than Laura had had putting herself back together after Jeffries' abandonment.

The thought was as confounding as it was troubling.

(TBC)


	9. Chapter 9: Secrets Uncovered

A scream woke Laura. As she lay on the backseat of the car, trembling and sweating, it took her drug befuddled mind a long minute to understand the scream had come from her own throat. She'd been locked in the nightmare. The one of Paddington Station. The one that continued on to find her standing at Remington's grave watching his casket being lowered into the ground. Only now it contained a new chapter, one in which she glimpsed her husband's beloved face shortly before the casket was closed. A face scored with deep cuts, mutilated.

Panting, she tried to string together her thoughts enough to convince herself it was nothing more than a dream. Instead, her eyes rolled back in her head, as she lost consciousness again on a dry sob. She returned to the nightmare, and was lost in it.

In the driver's seat, Roselli smiled. _Child's play,_ he thought with self-satisfaction.

* * *

Wheel's up had happened forty-five minutes before, and the plane was on course to Manzanillo and Las Hadas, a place Remington had hoped, with a passion usually saved for his movies and his wife, that he'd never have the misfortune of visiting again. He and Murphy had gone over all the information they'd collected on Roselli again, and in the back of Remington's head, he'd begun to create a list of items that needed to be checked into once Laura was safe and home. Things that might provide the answer to a single question: why?

A hand sought Laura's ring, strung around his neck, as he tuned out whatever Murphy was going on about.

His Laura was lovely, of that there was not a single doubt. Over the years as they'd struggled to find their way through the briars of their individual fears, she'd attracted the attentions of many men, much to his chagrin. She had a habit of leaving men spellbound, lamenting the what if's: Milton of the Binky fame, Norman Maxwell and Preston Hayes all coming readily to mind. Himself, of course, although he'd been the lucky one, the only man able to claim her for his own. She tended to inspire thoughts of home and hearth to traipse through a man's imagination.

But obsession?

Early this morning, as he'd sat sketching in the dim light passing through the drapes from inside the flat, his mind had stumbled upon and then latched onto one thought: Why is she different than the wife of his supervisor in Mexico City? Roselli had turned violent and done the _husband_ harm when warned away from the woman he'd been stalking there. Roselli's attempt to eliminate Remington in London, gelled well with those events. He'd warned Roselli away from Laura… well, had essentially blackmailed him into giving up his pursuit. So, too, did Roselli's staged attack of him in the alleyway: a bit of tit-for-tat blended with retaliation for once again being warned off. That Roselli would come after him… it tracked, as Laura would say.

Then there was the heavy-handedness he'd employed against Laura on multiple occasions now. When he considered his dealings with the man in Mexico, then London and Ireland, it too meshed up with what he knew of the man. He relied on brute force to get the job done, had no concept of finesse. Then there was the fact the man had little respect for women, as evidenced by, if nothing else, the way Roselli had stashed his current live-in-lover under the bed in Laura and Remington's honeymoon suite even as he carried on his pursuit of Laura. His abandonment of the same woman at Las Hadas. He was confident that when they interviewed Conchita Guitierrez they would confirm the man had used physical force to keep her 'in line'.

That Laura had been viewed as the 'weak link' from the outset of the plot between Roselli and Keyes, again, fit. Given Roselli's lack of respect for women, it would be inevitable that he'd assume she was the weaker party of the two. Keyes, of course, had been right that by going after Laura, Remington would be distracted, off his game. Keyes had tangled with Laura enough in the past to know that she was anything but submissive, malleable. Yet, Keyes had picked up on the personal relationship between Laura and Remington – not all that difficult to do after he'd returned from London as they were no longer attempting to hide it from the public. Keyes had seen firsthand Laura's momentary lapse of trust in Remington during the Cranston case, and its effect upon her. He'd been there at the Little Chapel of Perpetual Hope, had watched him try to wed another woman. By the time they arrived in Mexico, it was virtually guaranteed that Laura would be off-kilter, and a better than even chance she'd be off her game so that details she normally wouldn't miss would slip by. It worked very well with Keyes plans for them.

It all tracked.

But kidnapping?

If Laura were the target of Roselli's obsession as the man claimed, no matter how insane the man was, he had to know that this was not a route to seduction. That a woman, any woman, would not be flattered, find it romantic, endear him to them. Especially not Laura Steele nee Holt. Roselli had interacted enough with Laura by this point to know she was anything but the typical woman. She had stood up to the man in Cannes, again in the hospital parking garage in LA. She was not meek, passive, easily swayed. She would not be a cooperative kidnapping victim – a fact that left Remington's blood running cold – but would fight, try to escape. And, by God, she wouldn't suddenly do an about face and declare her undying devotion to the man.

Not obsession. Paybacks, maybe, in part. But there was something more. And the more he dwelled on it the more he believed that it was still him that Roselli was after, not Laura at all. Just like Roselli's attempted seduction of Laura was a route to garner his cooperation, her kidnapping was also directed at him.

The question was why? How had he crossed Roselli so badly that the man would resort to this? Certainly, the little escapade with Remington revealing Roselli was hidden in the casket back in Ireland did not merit this type of revenge. Even that Laura had stayed fast by his side, dismissing Roselli's amorous pursuits, would not be just cause, because once again that would infer Laura was Roselli's goal.

With a quiet growl of frustration, he released Laura's ring from his fingers. Pushing himself up out of his seat, he crossed to the bar to pour himself two fingers of scotch. Tossing his head back, he knocked down half the fiery liquid, then turned to return to his seat. He stilled when he found a pair of laser sharp eyes focusing on him.

"Care to share?" Murphy asked, his casual tone belying the intensity of his gaze.

"Not at the moment. It's nothing concrete and will do little to help us find Laura," he declined, as he took his seat, carelessly slinging an ankle over a knee in an effort to appear relaxed. His thumb moved to graze against the back of his wedding band, a movement that was not lost on Murphy.

"As many times as I've credited you with being only concerned with yourself, I'm not buying it, Steele. Spill," Murphy shifted forward, leaning towards him with elbows propped on knees. Remington breathed out hard, before taking another draw on his scotch, his eyes flicking to Murphy then away.

"Just mulling the why of it all," he shook his head. It was precisely the opening Murphy had been hoping for.

"According to what Laura told me last summer, Roselli's obsession with her was because of something she'd done—"

"She's done nothing," Remington bit out through tight lips, his glare like ice.

"Then why would she insist that she was responsible?" he pushed.

"Covering for my mistakes, as she's always done where your concerned." Murphy reclined back in his seat again, crossing his leg much as Remington's, considering this. He shook his head adamantly.

"Some things never change, I see. You covering for her, her covering for you," he flashed a frustrated look at Remington. "But even when covering for you, Laura has never, not once, outright lied to me. Waltzed around the truth, absolutely. Only shared the least damning parts, all the time. But outright lied? Never. So what did she do?" He gave Remington an expectant look.

"Leave it alone, Michael's. I already told you the fault lies—"

"Direct that razor sharp tongue at him?" Remington raised his glass and took a sip. Murphy reviewed the details Guitierrez had shared with him the summer before. "Figured out the relationship between he and Keyes and called him on it?" Another sip and a glance away. Murphy dug further into his memory. The plan had been for Roselli to seduce Laura in order to prove the Steele's marriage was a fraud. "Set the man down hard and bruised his ego." Remington's hand lifted, so that fingers could toy with her engagement ring again. Murphy's eyes narrowed at the action, knowing he was coming close. "Pretended to go along with the game plan, so she could bust him on it." Remington flinched, then abruptly put down his glass. Standing, he strode across the room to the private bath and shut the door behind him.

Murphy stared at the closed door. In that single action, Steele had told him what Laura had done. He was left stunned. He'd seen Laura and Steele in New York barely two months before she'd called him from Cannes. He'd lost a bet in New York, having to finally concede to Bernice and Sherry that the two were head-over-heels for one another. As he'd watched them dance at Bernice's wedding reception, there was absolutely no way he could deny the obvious. The way they looked at one another, how they'd been unable to share enough glancing touches, the smiles exchanged. The room had been full of people, yet the two of them were an island unto themselves.

They'd married somewhere between New York and Cannes. She'd never shared the specific details with him. His mind whirled. Keyes and Roselli had planned to prove to the INS that the marriage was a fraud. _Why didn't I realize the significance of that before,_ he wondered. He mentally popped himself in the back of the head, then allowed his thoughts to continue to flow.

They'd married. To keep him in the U.S.? The idea held weight. Yet Laura had been happy, contented even, when she'd shared the news with him.

So why would Laura have been open to Roselli's planned seduction?

He pondered the bathroom door. He suspected that answer lie in why Steele believed all the fault lay with him.

Murphy leaned back and waited for Steele to emerge so he could find out the answer of why that was.

* * *

Remington leaned on arms braced against the sink. His fingers gripped the side of it painfully. His breathing came fast and hard. _This, old sport, is the problem with hanging about a couple of detective. Michaels is just like Laura in this. Hounding a man until he caved and provided the answers demanded… or extracted as the case may be._ Question after question, pounding at him, all the while watching for the most subtle of reactions, then sinking their teeth in once a weakness was shown. Determined to get answers to their questions, both were unrelenting until they succeeded.

Knowing Murphy waited out in the main cabin so round two could commence, Remington could only shake his head, while admiring the white porcelain of the sink. _You may well unearth the truth, Michaels old boy, but you can pound salt until I'm good and ready to come out._

Straightening up to his full height, Remington closed the lid to the toilet and sat down. Hanging his head once more, he rubbed a hand against the back of his next, willing the tension there to loosen.

"Where are you, Laura?" he whispered.


	10. Chapter 10: In the Way

Laura woke slowly. Her brain was still sluggish from whatever Roselli had drugged her with, but, she thankfully acknowledged, it was working, able to retain a coherent thought.

Her first thoughts were of Remington. Her brows knit together as she willed herself not to cry, trying to breathe past the harsh ache in her chest.

 _Rem…_

Had he been found? Did anyone even know she was gone, quite against her will? How long had she been gone now? The drugs had erased any concept of time.

She was hungry, and thirsty yet vowed she'd not take another single thing to drink or eat from Roselli, lest he spike still something else she would consume. She yearned to sit up and demand to know where they were going, why he was doing this. Instead, she played possum, giving no indication that she'd wakened. She needed the fog to clear at least enough so that she could formulate questions that would allow her to leave another clue.

Rotating her left ankle gingerly, she tested its level of tenderness. _Four on a scale of one to ten,_ she decided, suppressing the desire to sigh lightly in relief. Stretching her feet, she tremored slightly. The movement set her soles on fire. She'd need to check them out the first chance she got. She flexed her hands, finding them not as tender. All-in-all, she summarized, she'd be able to run if the opportunity arose.

Self-assessment complete, she began moving to make it clear she was awake. In the driver's seat, Roselli heard the movement and checked his watch. _Seven hours,_ he noted. The drug had worn off sooner this time around, but the effects had been more intense. All as expected.

"Sleep well?" he called back over the seat, amusement tinging his words. She chose to ignore the remark, although she shot daggers with her eyes at the back of his seat.

"Where are we going, Tony?" she asked, her voice gravelly. She longed for a cool glass of water but settled for clearing her throat instead. Roselli considered her question at length, then concluded her knowing posed no risk.

"A little cabin I own. It's secluded. No one to bother us. Nowhere to escape once we arrive. We'll have to hike in." Laura frowned.

" _Hike_ in? How far of a hike?"

"Just under four miles. You keep yourself in shape. It won't be difficult for you, like it was for Conchita." She searched her brain.

"The woman you hid under Remington's and mine bed in the villa," she noted.

"Wouldn't have had to do that if she'd stopped following me around. She didn't trust me with you, for good reason," he laughed. She wrinkled her nose at his implications.

"She knew Keyes had recruited you—"

"Whoa. Recruited me? How do you get that?" he interrupted.

"How do you think?" she asked drolly.

"Conchita." He gave a sharp bark of a laugh. "The woman never could keep a thought straight. I can't believe _you_ would credit that blundering idiot with recruiting me." He shook his head. "So get it straight. I recruited him. He knew the two of you, had dealt with you both. The only thing I ever needed from the man was information. Then when it became clear what a thorn in both your sides the man was and that we were both after the same thing…" he shrugged, "…it made sense to keep him around while he was useful."

"Then, when he wasn't, you had him killed," she concluded quietly.

"If he'd stuck to the game plan, I wouldn't have had to do it."

"The game plan," she said with disgust. "To seduce me and prove our marriage a fraud."

"Or so Keyes believed. I had bigger fish to fry, as they say. I needed Steele off his game. Watching the woman he'd had a hard on for, for years, panting after another man?" He laughed. "He was easy pickings. Woudda done anything to get rid of the competition."

"I _never_ panted after you," she spat, " _You_ pursued _me_."

"Did you stop me or encourage it? And, correct me if I'm wrong, wasn't it you that kissed me in front of your husband and Lynch?" He took aim with his words, and hit his target dead on. Laura scrunched her eyes shut at the reminder of what she'd done to Remington in a fit of temper. "I'll give Keyes credit on that. He said you were beside yourself watching Steele trying to marry the hooker." He laughed long and loud. "A hooker! How does it feel to know Steele chose a whore over you?" She flinched at the second direct hit in such a sort span of time.

"It wasn't like that—"

"Tell the truth for once," he snapped. "The truth is, if the hooker hadn't been arrested, she would be Mrs. Steele now, not you." Laura flinched again, even as her chin tilted up stubbornly.

"I wouldn't have let that happen," she ground out. "Why?" she asked changing course. "Why do you hate him so much? Why are you doing this? What had Remington ever done to you? And don't give me the same old, tired line. I want the damned truth." Roselli shrugged.

"He took what was most important to me, so I took what was most important to him. Deportation would have done the trick nicely. His precious little Agency shut down. When the press got wind of it, there would be no more fame and glory just humiliation. No more using his pretty face to rake in the dough. It would have been enough. Maybe. Then it wasn't." Laura shook her head, trying to process it all.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play games, Laura, you know exactly what I mean," he barked.

"I don't," she answered calmly, needing him to keep talking, needing to know the whole of it. "Why wasn't it enough?" He turned slightly in his seat, glancing over the back of it at her and pointing a finger in her direction.

"You. You changed the game. Flirting with me the way you did. Making me believe that there could be something between us. I actually started caring for your conniving little ass." He laughed sharply. "Who woudda known that it would turn out losing you would be what mattered most to him. Keyes said the two of you had been having a fling. The boss tapping the little protégé then twisting her arm into marrying him to make him a citizen." He laughed again. "I woudda never thought the man was head-over-heels for you. But you used it against him, used _me_ against him, all the time making me think you and me stood a chance. Fuck," he bit out, temper rising, "it took me three years to get Conchita in line, mosta the time anyway. I ditched her for you, for what you let me think there was between us. But _yet again, he got in the way._ " He shrugged. "Always getting in the way of what I want. So my plans changed. I wanted back in good with the MI5. Put out some feelers. Found out through some contacts about the mole. I figured use the 'famous Remington Steele' as the go between and it would kill two birds with one stone. Me back in good with the INS, him dead, you and I together since he wouldn't be around to interfere anymore."

"Your name was still cleared," she pointed out, "Fitch identified as the mole—"

"And _he_ got credit for all of it. While I sit in jail cooling my heels, papers in Ireland and England claiming the 'great Remington Steele' had unearthed it all. Once again, the bastard took what was mine. Then while I'm behind bars, with no one to keep him from playing _you_ , he worms his way back into your life and bed. What did I get? Not a fucking thing. I figured if I could at least have you, get you back, then I'd come outta it all with at least something." Laura lifted a palm to her forehead and rubbed.

"So you followed us. Why? I'd already told you in Galway that this fantasy you had of you and I would never happen," she asked wearily.

"No, no you didn't," he accused furiously. "You said 'can't.' 'I can't leave him', as though he had something on you keeping you with him."

"Damn it, Tony. I told you. Four years, for four years he and I had scraped and fought to try to get where we were. 'I can't walk away,' as in he was all I can ever remember wanting. _This._ What he and I have, the _life_ he and I had been making together. It was everything."

" _You used me_ ," he answered, bitterly.

"We used _each other_ ," she countered. "You used me to get to him, I used you to hurt him. It doesn't make either of us any better or any worse than the other. The only one that had a right to feel betrayed was _Remington._ "

"Fuck that," Roselli spat out. "Once again he wins and I'm left with nothin'. Well, not this time. This time I took it all," he laughed. A tremor passed through her. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm.

"And now? What happens now?"

"Now, I deal with you. Your games. Your lies. No woman teases, uses, Anthony Roselli and gets away with it."

Laura shuddered and her stomach rolled, not knowing what he had in mind and not wanting to know the specifics. It was already too clear that she'd have to find a way to escape before they made it to that cabin of his. But handcuffed to the frame of the seat, all she could do at the moment was keep gathering whatever information he shared.

"Why start all of this in the first place? What had he ever done to you? We didn't even know you before all of this started! Why the elaborate ruse to make our paths cross?" she demanded to know.

"He didn't know me, but I knew him. Like I said, he got in the way of what I wanted most, made sure I didn't get it." Her brow furrowed and she fell silent.

Got in the way of _what?_ She couldn't very well ask the man if he, too, had lived on the shady side of the street, although that years long span where Murphy hadn't managed to dig anything up on him made it a possibility. But to ask if Remington had beat him to a jewel, a piece of art, had outsmarted him in a con? The question couldn't even be posed without putting at risk Remington's own past. Shaking her head, she turned on her side and faced the back seat, her thumb toying with her wedding band.

"… _ **there is someone who needs you to be safe, who needs you to come home."**_

She took in a deep staccato breath, Remington's words so clear, so vibrant in her mind, she could almost imagine he was sitting next to her now, saying them to her. She'd promised him that she would come home to him and she would do whatever it took to keep that promise, for both of their sakes.

A sob bubbled up in her chest. If he was there to come home to. She shoved the thought, the emotion aside. "'Don't believe everything you hear on the radio,'" she whispered the reminder to herself. There was no proof that Remington was gone, only Roselli's word. That she could still feel his presence out there, feel his fear, feel his panic, had to mean something. He was out there, expecting her to honor her vow, to keep fighting, to do what it took to free herself of Roselli's clutches. Her heart still believed that, even if her mind was struggling.

She settled down, then focused on how and when she might make her escape. Giving her left hand a small yank, she listened to the clank of metal against metal. _These have got to go. As long as he thinks I plan to try and escape they'll stay._ She shook her head. _He wants meek, willing, beaten? That's what I'll have to give him._ Her lip curled, the mere thought of it rankling her nerves.

 _In the meantime, I need to get him to stop again. A cabin, four miles from a road. It's not much, but at least it's something._ She sighed quietly.

Only with decisions made, did she allow herself to lament her aching, empty stomach before her mind drifted off into the comforting memories of Remington.

* * *

"Remington Steele Agency. Bernice Hawke speaking. How many I help you?" Bernice inquired of the caller on the other side of the line.

With Remington and Murphy winging their way to Manzanillo, they no longer had need of her shorthand skills. Determined not to feel helpless, she had Jason take her to the Agency, then volunteered to answer the phone as she transcribed her notes, freeing Mildred to concentrate fully on the searches of public, criminal and governmental records she'd begun the day before. She'd found it harder than she'd anticipated. Sitting in Laura's office, surrounded by her things, memories of late night conversations and preparing for nights out floating in the air around her. Several times she'd had to stop, pressing her face in hands propped up by elbows on the desk. She'd been doing just that, for the half-dozenth time, when the phone rang.

"Reward? Dinero?" the heavily accented, female voice asked. Bernice sat up straight at her desk. Monroe had made certain the word reached the streets the day prior that anyone with information that led to Laura's recovery would be handsomely rewarded. Standing abruptly, she waved frantically at Mildred through the open office door. Remington and Laura's trusted secretary had already been keeping eyes and ears pealed when the phone rang. Standing, she hustled her way into Laura's office, as best she could given the impediment of the crutches.

"Reward. Yes. Yes. Do you know something about Laura?" Bernice asked anxiously, then took a deep calming breath when Mildred lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Si, un mensaje. A message," the voice confirmed.

"What does the message say?" Bernice asked, calmer now.

"' Help. Reward. Dinero. Laura Steele. Kidnapped. Call the Remington Steele Agency. 212-555-9458. Older model, Oldsmobile Cutlass Sedan. 4 doors. Brown with tan, vinyl roof. New Jersey license plate, 556-IZO. Heading south. Anthony Roselli, abductor _.'"_ Bernice scribbled out the message quickly as the caller spoke."

"And where are you?"

"Hermosillo, Mexico." Bernice and Mildred jointly closed their eyes in relief. It appeared Remington's instincts were dead on.

"Your name?"

"Ivana Rodriguez."

"Alright, Ivana. I need you to find the nearest Western Union office to you. Call us back collect. We'll wire you…" she glanced up at Mildred, who held up both hands, fingers splayed, "…ten thousand U.S. dollars for your assistance first thing tomorrow morning when the banks open. And thank you." Bernice hung up the phone and sagged down into her chair.

"Mexico," she breathed. Mildred nodded.

"And now we have make, model and license of the car. Call Jarvis, give him the information and see if he can get the Federales on the lookout. The boys won't be landing for another hour. In the meantime, I have more records to search, starting with New Jersey." Mildred returned to her desk, while Bernice rummaged for the phone number of the LAPD then picked up the phone to make the call.

(TBC)

* * *

 _ **A/N Due to my somehow forgetting to upload the next installments of Steele Tested last week, a second set of chapters will be uploaded on Weds. this week. Thank Doey10 for bringing this to my attention!**_


	11. Chapter 11 - The Bigger Why

Remington finally mustered up the chutzpah to leave the bathroom and face Murphy's determined interrogation. He didn't even try to delude himself that the man would take a hint and back off. The inability to leave things alone was a quality all three of them – he, Laura, Murphy – shared, although each of their tactics were different. Scrubbing at his face, he reluctantly retook his seat, aware that Murphy's eyes were following him all the while. The man wasted no time once Remington was again seated.

"I saw the two of you in New York. How happy she was, you both were. Not only that, she made it clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn't tone down my attitude, in her eyes there was no choice to be made: It would be you." Remington raised shocked eyes to look at Murphy.

"She said that?"

"Mmm hmm," Murphy nodded.

* * *

" _ **It's taken me a while to realize that each time you take a potshot at him sling a barb, and I say nothing at all, I'm making a choice: you over him. He's never once complained, never asked me to defend him. He just takes it, out of respect for me, what our friendship means to me. Well, no more. He deserves…No that's not the right word. He has**_ _ **the right**_ _ **to know that I choose him.**_ _ **Every time**_ _ **. That what we have takes precedence over anything else."**_

* * *

"So would you mind telling me how Laura went from _that_ to dallying with another man… on your honeymoon, none the less?" Murphy asked, turning his sites on Remington and unloading both barrels. Remington's fists clenched, knuckles whitening.

"Laura never 'dallied' with the man, you know her better than that, Michaels," he told Murphy in a voice like ice. Launching himself to his feet, he spun around, ire painted across him. "I'll not have you insulting her, no matter what you are to her." Murphy held his hands up.

"Flirted with, allowed the man to believe he had a chance. You choose." Now his voice rose as he surged to his feet. "What in the hell happened, Steele? How do you go from what I saw in New York to _that_?!"

"I bloody well tried to marry another woman to keep from being deported," Remington exploded, fists clenching and unclenching. "Satisfied now, Michaels? You've uncovered how we've injured one another. Does knowing appease your relentless curiosity? Does it help find my wife? Or does it merely assuage your ego to know I've done what you always said I would – damn well broke her heart then placed her in harm's way?" Breathing hard, he crossed to the other side of the cabin. Bracing his arm against the cabin wall, he leaned down to look out the window, effectively placing his back to the man.

Murphy flopped down into his chair. Propping elbows on knee, a hand rubbed at the back of his head, as he tried to digest the curveball Remington had just thrown. "What were you thinking, Steele?" Murphy asked quietly.

Remington leaned his forehead against the arm pressed against the wall. "That I couldn't leave her? Not only because of what it would do to her, the Agency, but because of what it would do to me as well." Rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, he turned to lean across the wall and closed his eyes. "I couldn't ask her to marry me, not like that. She would have always wondered if I only married her for that… if as soon as I was declared a legal citizen that she'd look up and I'd be gone." He crossed the room and slumped back into his chair, resting chin on knuckles. "I couldn't find any other options except the path I chose and in doing so, hurt her more than I ever imagined I could."

"So she turned to Roselli," Murphy guessed. Remington shook his head.

"Not turned to, at least in the way you mean," Remington corrected. "She simply didn't discourage his pursuit of her, for a brief time. She had a point to make."

"How did the two of you get from that to where you are now?" Remington shrugged, and scrubbed at his face with his hand.

"Simply put? We'd reached a point where there were only two choices left: stop the bullshit and admit what we had both wanted for years, or part ways for good. We'd already learned before that the latter was impossible. Brutal." Murphy nodded his head.

"And how did you accomplish the former?" Murphy inquired out of morbid curiosity.

"I think she'd agree that for the both of us it was Daniel's…" he swallowed hard "…death. He'd allowed love to slip through his fingers once, and never stopped regretting it. We chose to learn from that." Standing, he ran a hand through his hair. "Can we let this go, now? The only thing any of this explains is the why of how we got here. It doesn't tell us where she is. That's all that matters now."

"At the moment, I agree," Murphy conceded. "But at some point, the two of you are going to have to address the bigger why. Why does the man have such a hard-on for the two of you? Why did he target you in the first place? Laura's wonderful, and I know better than most the kind of… feelings… she can stir. I get that Sherry thinks the man's a sociopath. And God knows, I understand how you can inspire a man to want to kick your ass…" Remington tossed him a derisive look "…but none of that explains why he is willing to put career and even his freedom on the line to settle the score with the two of you. Unless the two of you figure out that bigger why, he's just going to keep coming for you."

"That fact has not escaped me, mate, not at all. Was dwelling on it a bit ago myself." He scrubbed at his face again. "When Laura is home and safe, then we'll deal with that question. Right now, the only thing that matters at all is bringing her back."

"Agreed," Murphy nodded. "Let's go back over Guitierrez's statement and find the holes."

Leaning over, Remington picked up the papers and split the stack between the two of them. They settled in hoping against hope that they'd find something that would provide them a new avenue of questioning or leverage over her.


	12. Chapter 12 - Glimpse of Freedom

Laura moved to lay on her back when the car took a soft turn off the road onto the right hand side. Sitting up, she peered out the window to find they'd stopped at another remote gas station that appeared to be devoid of traffic. Closing her eyes, she said a small prayer that she'd be able to hold onto her resolve to play the submissive captive.

"Tony? I need to use the restroom."

Roselli turned and looked back over the seat at her.

"We'll see," is all he would commit to before climbing from the car. Some minutes later, she heard him opening the gas cap. When he finally opened the back door and leaned into unlock her cuff, she had to firmly squelch a smile. Smiling was the furthest thing from her mind when she stepped down on the gravel parking lot. She scrunched her eyes against the first shooting pain, her injured ankle forgotten in the wake of the tender skin of her feet. It took all her concentration not to moan with each step, but she was determined not to give Roselli the satisfaction. When her feet touched the cool, smooth tile of the bathroom floor, the relief was so great that the filthy floors didn't even give her pause.

"Five minutes, Laura," he warned. She nodded, then closed the door. Just like at the last stop, she pulled the marker from her pocket, writing as quickly as she could.

 _Reward. $$$$. Laura Steele, Kidnapped from LA. Call the Remington Steele Agency. 212-555-9458. 4 door Oldsmobile Cutlass, older model. Brown with tan vinyl roof. New Jersey license plate, 557-IZO. Southbound. Being taken to a cabin, four miles from a roadway._

Capping the marker, she slipped it back in her pocket before flushing the toilet. She grimaced at the grey water that flowed from the sink. Unable to force herself to drink it, she carefully positioned a foot on the sink ledge, inspecting it. She flinched as she prodded two of the nastier cuts that were now oozing. Despite her wariness of the water, she placed her foot under the flow of water to clean it. Her left foot, she found, was in better shape, though one wound that had closed was remarkably more painful than the others. With a shake of her head, she cleaned that foot as well. Task complete, she left the bathroom before she was ever called, then returned to the car with Roselli. It was only when she watched as an old, beaten down patrol car began to nose its way into the parking lot that she instinctively balked. Roselli glanced over his shoulder at the car.

"Damn," he growled. "Get in the car, Laura," he told her warningly, placing his body between her and the driver's view. She tipped up her chin at him in defiance.

"Not on your life," she answered, her voice cold as steel.

"You don't want to do this," he told her menacingly.

"Bet me." Ducking down, she attempted to maneuver her way under his arm, with every intention of running for freedom. Roselli's hand snatched her around the neck before she could elude him, and with a mighty snap of his arm, rammed the side of her head into the car door. There was only blinding pain then darkness.

Hefting her into the backseat and closing the door, Roselli casually slid into the driver's seat of the car, started the engine, then drove without incident out of the parking lot. Five miles down the road, he pulled the car onto a secluded dirt road. There, he injected the unconscious Laura, once again, and handcuffed her to the car frame. Resuming the car's course, he whistled a little tune. His plan was still intact.


	13. Chapter 13 - Another Piece of the Puzzle

Remington paced the confines of the villa. With a lot of charm and a significant amount of cash, he'd managed to secure the very villa in which he and Laura had stayed the last time they'd been in residence at Las Hadas. He couldn't have given a good reason for the pressing need to stay in this room, other than comfort. He and Laura had slept here, fought here, had begun to mend here. He'd hoped that he'd feel a connection to her, instead as he'd unpacked, the only feelings to be found were fear and loss.

He'd enlisted the services of the hotel's manager, providing the man with pictures of both Roselli and Laura. The manager had promised the pictures would be shared with all staff members on the off-chance that either Roselli or Laura appeared on the premises. Remington prayed ardently that it would be the latter who showed, but knew there was little chance of that happening.

Now, as he glanced at his watch, he fidgeted and paced. The day had gotten away from them. By the time they'd boarded the private jet, flown the nearly three hours to Manzanillo, navigated the sometimes congested and slow moving roadways to Las Hadas and checked in, it was already closing in on three-thirty in the afternoon and they were nowhere closer to finding Laura than when the day had started. Now, as he worried a thumbnail, he was waiting on Murphy to unpack in his own room and join him.

" _ **Us. I want us."**_

Remington spun on a heel, searching for her. The memory of her words, spoken here, had been so vivid that he would have sworn the scent of honeysuckle, grass and sunshine still lingered in the air. His heart sagged with disappointment. Slowly he turned taking in the room, bad memories and good colliding. If he listened closely, he could still hear the sound of Laura's sobs in the bedroom nearby. Laura, who had only once before let it all go. It had torn at him, knowing that this time it was his actions which had caused her heartache.

It was here that he'd believe, far too briefly, that they would at last cross that line to the bedroom. A worthy setting in which to capture that magical moment. He guffawed quietly. Instead, it had been here that he'd first laid eyes on Roselli. It was here that Laura had allowed her anger at his foolishness to simmer, steep then at last boil over. It was here that he'd been too foolish not to admit his rampaging jealousy at the appearance of the man, injuring her wounded ego further. So much hurt, anger in these rooms, that he felt almost suffocated by it, making him wonder what on earth had made him believe he'd find some form of comfort.

He was startled from his morose thoughts by the shrill of the cellular phone Monroe had supplied him with that morning. Unused to carrying it, he automatically picked up the receiver on the hotel phone, then frowned at the dial tone even as the phone continued to ring. Recognition came, and with it swift movement to locate then answer it.

"Steele, here," he answered, although it was hardly necessary to identify himself as only two parties had the number: Monroe and Mildred.

"Boss, we had someone contact us with a message from Mrs. Steele," Mildred told him, surprisingly calm and getting straight to the point.

Remington's legs turned to rubber, and he sat down hard upon the coffee table. Closing his eyes, he gripped the phone so hard, his knuckles whitened.

"What did it say?" he asked, voice tight.

"'Help! Reward. $$$. Laura Steele. Kidnapped. Call the Remington Steele Agency. 212-555-9458. Older model, Oldsmobile Cutlass Sedan. 4 doors. Brown with tan vinyl roof. New Jersey license plate, 556-IZO. Heading south. Anthony Roselli, abductor'," Mildred read the note verbatim before continuing on.  
"We've already notified Jarvis and he's on the Federales, trying to get them involved."

"Wait, wait, wait, one second," he told her, bounding up from the table and scrambling across the room in search of pad and pen. Finding it next to the phone, he asked that she repeat the message. "Where? Where was the message left?"

"Hermosillo, Mexico." Mildred had to take a breath, her relief was so overwhelming. "Chief, they're headed your way."

He swiped a hand across his face, his heart pounding in his chest at the first tangible proof that his instincts were correct. Roselli and Laura were headed straight for him. Taking a deep breath, he let it out.

"There's more, Chief. The car is registered to Roselli, shown living at 22 South Lenola Road, Wrightstown NJ, right outside of Fort Dix where his father was stationed from 1951 until retirement in 1973," Mildred filled him in. "A search of criminal records found a juvenile record, which was sealed but…" She left the sentence hanging.

"But what, Mildred," he asked impatiently. On the other end of the line Mildred bristled, then reminded herself of the strain he was under.

"But with a little finagling, I managed to get into the record. Roselli spent three months in juvie when he was sixteen for a charge that equates to domestic battery." Moving to the couch he sat down, threading fingers through his hair.

"Against whom?"

"Sorry, no go, Boss. Couldn't get in that deep." She paused, digging through her notes. "There's more. Just after his eighteenth birthday, Roselli was arrested, again for assault of the father of his then girlfriend. Broke the man's jaw. The charges were dropped when he enlisted in the Army."

He nodded to himself. The information merely confirmed what he already believed. Roselli had a habit of going after the man not the woman. Once more, the question of why his pattern had changed for Laura reared its ugly head. He let loose a shuddering sigh, while standing to answer the knocking at the villa door.

"Anything else, Mildred?" He waved Murphy in.

"Not right now, but I have no intention of giving up until we overturn every rock this slimeball has hidden under," she vowed.

"Good work, Mildred. Keep me abreast of anything new." He disconnected the call without even a parting goodbye.

"Sounds like Mildred found something on Roselli," Murphy commented, stretching out in a chair across from Remington. Remington stared at the phone in his hand for a long several seconds, before sitting on the table in front of him and bracing his body on elbows pressed to knees.

"Laura somehow managed to leave us a message," he told the other detective, relaying the information. Murphy let out a long breath.

"They're heading this way, then. So, any plans on how we'll be ready when they arrive?"

"I'm working on it," he answered vaguely. "The details will depend on what further we can extract from Ms. Guitierrez." Standing, he checked his pockets, assuring the room key was tucked away. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Murphy answered, following Remington out of the villa.

* * *

Remington sat hunkered down in the passenger seat of the two door Mercury Cougar he'd secured from the rental car agency. Glancing briefly at his watch, he let out a huff of air, then returned to fingering the ring hanging from around his neck. He and Murphy had been parked down the road from Conchita Guitierrez's ramshackle residence in Colomo, Mexico, for nearly three hours. Six forty-five. The sun had officially set on the second day of Laura's kidnapping. He started when Murphy slapped a paper package into his chest. He glanced at the other man.

"Eat," Murphy ordered, nodding his head pointedly towards the sandwich pressed up against Remington's chest. He'd made a pit stop by the kitchen of the resort and had several sandwiches along with a couple of thermoses of coffee packed up for them, just in case they had to wait out Guitierrez.

"Not hungry," Remington clipped shortly, trying to shove the sandwich away.

"Look, Steele. I know you're worried about Laura and God knows, I'm not hungry myself. But use some common sense, man. We have no idea how long it will take us to find her and, make no mistake, _we will find her_. She can't afford either of us falling down on the job because we haven't been taking care of ourselves."

Shaking his head wordlessly, Remington took the sandwich and after opening the paper reluctantly took a bite. The man had a point, but he was far too weary to acknowledge it. He chewed and swallowed on rote, trying not to choke on a sandwich he'd normally consider passable, but now abraded his tongue as though he were eating sand. He managed to choke down half the sandwich before setting it aside and returning his eyes to Guitierrez's house, his fingers to Laura's ring, and his mind to his memories.

The corners of his mouth twitched, as her remembered the first time they'd met. The widening of those lovely brown eyes when she saw him, the way she rose slowly to sit upright in what would soon be his chair. He would have sworn the air between them crackled with the instantaneous attraction he felt, that he saw reflected on her face, in her eyes. He'd found his eyes constantly wandering back to hers during the short period of time he'd stayed. Yet, the image of her eyes followed him when he'd left, had roused his curiosity again and again as the night wore on. Willing to admit it or not, he knew his life had just been set suddenly and inexplicably on a new course during that first meeting, the allure of the Royal Lavulite suddenly dimming in contrast to the memories of that moment.

He sighed quietly, drawing Murphy's attention for the umpteenth time.

"I never thought I'd ask this question back then, and definitely would not have believed your answer if I had, but you really love her, don't you?" Murphy asked. Remington's eyes glanced shortly towards Murphy then away.

"Do you believe in kismet, Murphy?"

"Fate?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I've never given it much thought, but if I did I guess I'd have to say that I believe things work out the way they're meant to."

"What are the odds that a thief who never stayed anywhere for longer than a few months at best, and a private investigator who'd only lived one place her entire life, would meet and know from the start that there was something… there… that couldn't be denied? For that matter, what are the odds that I'd give up millions in recovery fees for the Royal Lavulite just on the off chance that same woman felt as I did?" He sighed, pursing his lips again. "I stayed for all these years just in the hopes that we'd find precisely what we have, and let me tell you, it's been a long and bloody hard road to get here. That woman out there," he waved his hand towards the darkening skies outside the car, "she's not only my life, but the very best part of me."

"I have to admit, I didn't think anyone would ever break through those defenses she put up after Wilson-" He paused and gave a short, breathy laugh when he could have sworn he heard Remington mutter 'that wanker' under his breath. _My sentiments exactly, Steele._ "So you know what he did to her," Murphy commented.

"Some, though I suspect not the whole of it. But I've sure as bloody hell been made to pay for what he and her father did to her." Remington turned in his seat slightly, opening himself up to the conversation, though his eyes remained on the house three doors down. "You were there through Jeffries… presence… in her life, were you not?"

Murphy nodded solemnly. "I was, and towards the end there was not a day that went by that I didn't want to plant my fist in his face for what he was doing to her." His voice rang with sincere ire.

Remington puffed out a breath, unable to quell the feeling that he was about to plead for more insight into his sometimes hesitant, often fearful wife's mind. "Care to share what precisely that was?"

Murphy held quiet for a long minute, trying to decide if in doing so, he'd breach Laura's confidence. He looked sideways at the man beside him and in his mind had not a single doubt he'd been made to pay the cost for Wilsons' deeds. That he was the only person ever willing to stick it out, to find his way past all those walls his friend had erected, was the deciding factor. He settled back in his seat and rested his head against the headrest.

"I was a junior when Laura first arrived at Stanford. It was a tradition, in those days, for upperclassmen to try to steal a kiss from an incoming freshman on the Quad." He gave a short laugh at the memory. "A frat brother, Preston Hayes, zeroed in on Laura the second he saw her—"

Remington gave a short snort of laughter, drawing Murphy's gaze to rest on him. His lips lifted in an irritated, yet amused smile. "I'm familiar with the man and the tradition. Met the little twit during a case and he felt compelled to share the story, before hitting on her right in front of me."

Murphy laughed at hearing this. "Then you know, as he leaned in for that kiss she skittered away." Remington's brows arched in surprise.

"That's not the impression the man left me with, nor did Laura contradict him."

Murphy chuckled again. "Well, she did and he didn't. The only thing that met his lips was air. That's how she was those first few months at Stanford – waffling between the girl she'd been before her father left and this… this… scared, hesitant, shell of a person she'd become after he'd gone. Eventually, she found herself again. I think being away from home…" Murphy tilted his head at Remington in camaraderie, knowing he'd understand "… from her mother, the place where it all happened? It freed her." He smiled at the memory. "By her sophomore year, you'd never have thought the person that arrived on campus the year prior and the one that arrived that year were one and the same. She, I don't know…" he searched for the words, "…vibrated with life."

Remington laughed, wistfully almost, wishing he'd been able to see her then, at nineteen.

"That year, you could find her playing tag football with the guys in the quad; you might catch her shagging balls over on the baseball field. She refused to pledge a sorority, but the Girls of Four East were a sorority in their own right. Everyone knew them. Girls wanted to be like them; guys wanted to sleep with them. All of them excelled in the classroom, could dance a night away, and were always up to new adventures. And all of them, but one, embraced the seventies philosophy of free sex."

"Laura," Remington nodded, knowing well that Laura had engaged in but one sexual exploit during those college days.

"Laura," Murphy confirmed, then barked a sharp laugh. "No one, and I mean no one, would have ever thought she'd have an affair with her Calc professor."

"Well known, was it then?" Remington asked, a bit stunned by this revelation.

"Among certain circles, yes. I don't think Laura ever realized it though. She would have been…"

"Mortified," he supplied. Murphy nodded in agreement.

"I graduated at the end of her sophomore year. Two years later, she joined Havenhurst where I'd been apprenticing for two years already. She'd met Wilson towards the end of her senior year, but they hadn't started dating until that summer." He tossed Remington a rueful glance. "I knew from the moment I met him that he wouldn't be able to keep up with her. She was even more impulsive, more… wild, than the last time I had seen her. She was afraid of nothing and no one." He smiled in remembrance.

"I've caught glimpses of that Laura, here and there, more often lately than in days past." Murphy nodded. "So what happened?"

Murphy sobered. "He couldn't keep up with her, so instead of setting her free, he decided to slow her down. It started around six months into their dating. At first, it was her wardrobe. She was drawn to reds, bright blues and greens. Over the period of a couple of months, she'd suddenly reverted to browns, tans, greys and blacks. I asked her about it one day, and she just smiled and told me 'Wilson pointed out that if I want to be seen as a professional, I need to dress professionally.' I shrugged it off, at least at first.

"By the time she told me they were going to move in together, I'd seen enough. The sparkle in her eyes was missing most days. Every other week poker games had ended. 'Wilson thinks its unseemly for me to hand around a bunch of men outside of the office. That it will damage my reputation. He has a point.' Each change was accompanied by a 'Wilson says' or 'Wilson thinks'," he shook his head in disgust. "So when she told me they were moving in together, I let her know I thought it was a huge mistake, that slowly but surely he was taking the very best parts of her and blending them into his version of the Stepford Wives. But, you know how she is…"

Remington nodded. "Stubborn to a fault." Murphy hummed his agreement.

"After they moved in together, it was worse. That first year at Havenhurst, she'd gotten the attention of Alan, other partners. She had extraordinary insight, could link together clues that seemed completely unrelated. You know how she is." Remington only nodded. "She was tireless, working late into the evenings, then would be the first in the office the next morning. She had the commitment the partners were looking for. Then, around two months after they'd begun living together, she began leaving at five o'clock sharp every day." He shook his head again. "'Wilson works hard and deserves to have his dinner waiting when he comes home,'" Murphy mimicked with revulsion. "Soon it was twice weekly extended lunch hours for cooking classes. 'Wilson should be able to expect at least an edible meal.' Then a little more than six months in came Acapulco."

"Ah, the infamous fan dance on the bar," Remington chimed in. Murphy snorted and nodded.

"That trip was the beginning of the end of the Laura who'd come alive at Stanford, although there were only fragments of that person, here and there, before it. She came back from it a wreck. She wouldn't tell me what happened, but I knew it had to be huge. She was losing weight and based on the circles forming around her eyes, sleeping little. She wasn't catching those subtle nuances she once did with ease. Not enough to prevent her from solving the case, mind you, but enough that she could have solved them much earlier if she'd been on her game. And enough for other detectives, less talented detectives, like Clay Platt, to lay claim to solving the case. She never fought them on it, claimed she didn't see the point. I had no idea what was going on, but had a good idea it had to do with Wilson. Then one night, my suspicions were confirmed." He stopped speaking, swallowing hard against the sour taste in his mouth.

"What happened?" Remington nudged.

"I was dating a banker that worked with Wilson at the time. I had suggested to Laura that the four of us – she and Wilson, myself and Iris – go to the bank's Christmas party together. Just four friends enjoying an evening out. She reluctantly agreed then suggested we meet at her house. Wilson was in the bedroom, still dressing, when Laura answered the door. To say she was stunning would be an understatement. She was wearing this sleeveless, red, sequined, floor length gown, that hugged in all the right places. She left her hair hanging long. For a minute, when she answered that door, she looked like the Laura I once knew. Her skin glowed, her eyes sparkles and her smile?" He gave a low whistle. Remington smiled as he envisioned her.

"When Wilson came out of their room, he took one look at her, then asked to see her in the kitchen. Iris and I could only sit in the living room looking at one another dumbfounded and appalled by what we heard. He wanted to know what she was thinking, wearing a dress like that to his Christmas party. Hadn't she humiliated him enough in front of the President and Vice-Presidents in Acapulco when she'd done that slutty dance on the bar? He was still unable to hold his head up, he claimed. Did she ever think about how behavior reflected on him? She needed to be more responsible, more respectable, needed to stop being an embarrassment if she wanted things to work out between them." Murphy closed his eyes, his lips thinning with anger. "It was ugly, Steele, really, really ugly. When she came back into the living room, she asked that we excuse her for a few minutes. When she reemerged from their bedroom she was wearing this hideous black dress, her hair pulled back into a bun, barely any makeup on. She looked at Wilson and only smiled when he gave her a nod of approval."

Murphy stole a look at Remington and saw the man simmering with barely contained rage. "What else?" he bit out. Murphy could only shake his head.

"A month later she arrived home to find all his things gone. He'd packed up and left while she was at work. He'd asked that she stay clear of the house for the afternoon, never telling her why. She thought he was planning a surprise for her. Well," he said acidly, "it was a surprise, alright. He left her on her twenty-fifth birthday, less than a year after they'd moved in together."

"Bloody hell," Remington murmured. "The prick repeated history, leaving her without a goodbye, on her birthday as well. Surely he didn't know—"

"He knew and it didn't matter." Murphy took a deep breath and continued. "She called out the rest of that week, claiming she had food poisoning: bad shrimp at her birthday celebration. When she came back to the office the following Monday, she'd shut down completely. She threw herself into her work. She shed weight to the point she was almost skeletal. There was no laughter, no tears. Just… numbness. Six weeks later, while we were out working a case together, she had a panic attack—" he stumbled and eyes widened as he realized he might have shared a piece of her past she'd chosen to keep hidden. Remington nodded at the man.

"I know about them. Go on."

"There's really not much left to say. It took her the better part of a year to pull herself completely together. She left Havenhurst, started Laura Holt Investigations. The doors closed after a short while. Determined, she started the Agency, brought me on board… Bernice. The rest, as they say, is history."

Remington could only think of one thing to say. "Thank you." Murphy gave him a sharp nod.

"I've got to hand it to you, Steele. I'm not sure how you got through to her, but you did."

"Year after year of pounding my head against the proverbial wall, I assure you. But I knew once she finally let those walls she'd erected down, it would be worth every exasperating, frustrating minute that it taken to get her to that point. And it's been all that I expected and far more than I could have ever hoped for."

Silence descended on the car again, both men lost in their own thoughts. Several minutes had passed before Murphy spoke.

"We're going to get her back, Steele." Remington nodded.

"Aye, we are," he agreed.

By unspoken agreement, they settled in and returned to their vigil.


	14. Chapter 14 - Hope & Devastation

Laura woke gasping for breath, skittering to the corner of the backseat. Panting she pressed her back against the door and wrapped her free arm about legs brought up tight to her chest. The drug raging through her bloodstream for once proved more friend than foe. She could feel Remington's hands pressed against her diaphragm, could hear his soothing voice – "Breathe, Laura… in and out… in and out." Inhaling deeply through her nose her entire body tremored when she caught his scent in the air.

"Remington," she whispered aloud, longing lacing her voice.

"Laura," came his echoing reply.

She lifted her head from her knees, searching the dark car for him, finding him in the shadows. She held out her untethered arm to him, her hand waving him to her.

"Come here, sweetheart, come here," she implored, her body shuddering with the need to feel him, smell him, taste him.

His lips lifted in that crooked smile she adored, making her nibble at her bottom lip. Her eyes sought and found his bright blue eyes, while she waited for, anticipated his touch. He collapsed midway to her. She suddenly found herself transported to Paddington Station, where she held Remington's head in her lap as blood poured from the wound in his chest, and he looked at her despairingly before the light died in his eyes.

"No, no, no, Remington, no," she moaned, as her fingers threaded lovingly through the hair of his head in her hallucination. "You promised," she pleaded, "you promised you weren't going anywhere. You can't leave me. Not now. Please." The last word was said as a soft mew of despair, then she broke, sobbing hysterically.

In the front seat of the car, Roselli, who had been watching Laura from the time she first woke, smiled. _If you think this was a bad trip, Laura, wait until the next round. I have a couple of new surprises for you._ He laughed, patting his pocket, as he drove on to their destination for the evening.

(TBC)

* * *

 ** _A/N: Steele with me? We still have a long way to go yet. But good news for many of you out there: In upcoming chapters some of your favorite characters arrive back on the scene._**


	15. Chapter 15: Letters from the Past

Day Three

Monday, October 20, 1986

Shortly after midnight, Murphy and Remington gave up their stake out in front of Conchita Guitierrez's house. After more than an hour's drive back to Las Hadas, the two men had traipsed into the villa thoroughly exhausted. The cellular phone had never rung, there were no messages at the front desk awaiting them on their return. In short, not a single new lead in the past 10 hours. Both men were beyond frustrated.

"Look, Steele, I'm going to go get some sleep. I'd suggest you do the same. We'll leave out around six and head back to Guitierrez's."

"Six it is," Remington agreed, barely listening.

"Get some sleep, Steele," Murphy repeated, then let himself out of the villa to return to his room.

Remington wandered the empty rooms of the villa idly, knowing if sleep even came, it would not come easily. If his bone chilling fear over Laura would not keep him awake, then certainly the ghosts filling these rooms would. Keyes, 'dead', on the living room floor, leading to his arrest. Rozelli coming down the stairs that first evening. Roselli, alone in their bedroom later on. Laura, crying in that same bedroom. Laura, her fury beginning to surface in this very living room.

Shaking his head, he poured himself a finger of scotch, straight up, then wandered out to the pool. Here the ghosts lived as well. The argument they'd had, circling the pool, his jealousy and disbelief keeping him from truly listening to her, making him intent on needling her instead.

* * *

 _ **"I traipse in here with Tony-"**_

 _ **"Mr. Roselli."**_

 _ **"And what do you do? You offer him fish eggs!"**_

 _ **"He looked hungry."**_

 _ **"Don't you think other men might find me attractive?"**_

 _ **"Have anyone in mind?"**_

 _ **"Don't you think he was?"**_

 _ **"Was what?"**_

 _ **"Attractive!"**_

 _ **"I didn't notice."**_

 _ **"Well, he was. Damned attractive."**_

 _ **"Very well, Laura, I'll take your word for it. You've always had a keen eye for that sort of thing, you know."**_

 _ **Their argument had continued on in the villa.**_

" _ **Laura, I don't understand why you're so angry. I thought I was excruciatingly pleasant to your guest."**_

 _ **"There we were, two incredibly attractive people, together deep in the jungle, and you're not even remotely jealous!"**_

 _ **"All right, all right. If it makes you happy, I'm jealous."**_

 _ **"Too late!"**_

* * *

He took a sip of the scotch before rubbing at his face. _Another time you failed her, old sport. She'd just a day prior watched as it appeared you'd chosen another woman over her. You didn't hear what she was trying to say._

There were times it was too easy to forget, especially when he was feeling wounded himself, that as self-assured as Laura appeared on the surface, underneath that icy cool exterior there was a woman who'd spent a lifetime hearing of her deficits. A lifetime of lessons telling her she'd never be enough.

She'd tried to make him understand that evening, in that often infuriatingly indirect manner of hers, that she'd needed to be reassured that she mattered to him. That she very much mattered. Instead, blinded by his own insecurity over where they stood, infuriated by the arrival of a man he'd distrusted on sight, he ridiculed her, mocked, needled… pushed her away.

Words, it would have merely taken words, to stop the runaway train they were now held captive on. A few words, and there never would have been an almost marriage to another woman. A few words and she would've sat Roselli down firm. A few words, and she'd have turned to him, instead of away. He shook his head in disgust at himself.

Setting his glass on the bathroom counter, he stripped down, showered and dressed for bed in short order, before retrieving his glass again. A call to the front desk guaranteed a five-thirty wake up call. A quick check of the bedroom clock showed it was already past two-thirty. Stretching out on top of the comforter, he tried to will sleep to come. Twenty minutes later, he took to his feet again, pulling Laura's suitcase from the closet and retrieving her purse. Returning to bed, he popped open the clasp of her wallet, finding her driver's license in the windowed compartment. His heart ached as he stroked his finger across her image.

Some minutes later, two folded papers caught his eyes, one of those sheets of paper very familiar. Slipping it out of the pocket, he closed his eyes then slowly opened it. He laughed, then coughed when his throat constricted at the realization Laura had been carrying his letter to her from the Friedlich Spa all this time. When he'd written it, he'd been desperate to make things right between them. They had been brutally honest with one another, towards the end bordering on cruel towards one another. He himself had walked away with a gaping wound where his heart had been before the class had started. He'd withdrawn from her, fully shut her out, in self-protection on one hand, in overwhelming anger on the other.

She'd yet to realize, then, that he carried his greatest fear secreted deep within himself, whereas she kept her greatest fear hovering near the surface at all times. She, caught in perpetual limbo for fear of being left… again. Whereas he clung almost desperately to her in his mind, terrified that she'd one day decree him unwanted, unworthy and send him on his way – as he believed she'd done only ten months before when he'd fled to lick his wounds, eventually landing in London during a quest for his real name.

As she'd done in those final moments of their fight at the spa.

* * *

" _ **Well, go on, get out! I was better off without you anyway!"**_

* * *

Simply remembering the words, nearly eight months later, still made him bleed a little. It had taken him two days to remember that Laura Holt was proficient at choosing the sharpest arrow and aiming with deadly accuracy when she was the most deeply hurt. And he had hurt her. He might even go so far as to say he'd violated her confidence, revealing her fears about her father and mother.

Neither of them had behaved well, acted kindly. That was long and short of it. It was that he'd turned away from her, shut her out, all the while knowing how deeply that act wounded her, for which he held himself to task. Twice she'd made an attempt to rectify the damage they'd done one another, twice he had denied her. It was with this in mind, that there were explanations to be offered, apologies to be made and a list to write.

He'd torn up his first two attempts, finding them forced, awkward, afraid they would appear insincere. On the third draft, he'd found the words.

 _L –_

 _Your amazing, dexterous mind that challenges me, keeps me spellbound._

 _Your fierce loyalty to those for whom you care._

 _Your strength, that has taught me how to stand and fight._

 _Your beautiful, lilting voice that follows me into my dreams._

 _The auburn hair and the delight I find in running my fingers through its silken strands._

 _Those absolutely mesmerizing freckles sprinkled across your skin._

 _The dimples that appear when you allow yourself to be free, joyous._

 _The grace with which you walk across the room in that long-legged stride of yours._

 _The way your chin tips up, showing your confidence to the world around you._

 _That you concede to no one, not even myself, standing true to your convictions._

 _Your stunning eyes. It was the look in them that kept me here, that keep me here, for they speak of all we are meant to be to one another._

 _Of all things, Laura, your presence. That you cared enough to find me and bring me home._

 _Waking in the morning, knowing I'll see you that day, starts a day beautifully. Spending a quiet evening with you is the perfect way to end it. Our time together between those hours, whether we are fighting or keeping near, they are truly the spice of life. It's you that makes me look forward to each new day and what it will bring. Your presence in my life is the greatest treasure I have ever sought, and one day hope you will allow me to lay claim to._

 _You are so much more to me than just those words you need to hear. Believe in that, as much as I believe in you._

 _R-_

As he'd sealed the envelope that night, he'd laughed softly to himself when the realization hit him that he'd not written a list so much as the first and only love letter ever penned by his hand. A fact that was more terrifying than amusing when he'd found the courage to give it to her on the beach the following day. To know that his heart was laid bare before her to either accept or turn away…

He closed his eyes, now, the vision of the smile lighting her face, her eyes, the dimples creasing her cheeks after she'd read that letter as vivid as if she were standing before him. He could almost feel the touch of her lips against his neck, the feel of their bodies pressed tight from hip to shoulder. His heart pounded as it had that day. Somehow, he'd found a way to make it right. By some miracle, he'd found the words.

Taking a deep breath, and letting it out slowly between pursed lips, he eyed the second sheet of paper that had laid next to the first. Scolding himself all the while for his insatiable curiosity, he removed the paper and unfolded it. Slowly, he sat up straight, when he understood what he held in his hand. Letting out a staccato breath, he pushed himself from the bed. Retrieving the remainder of his scotch from the bathroom sink, he left the villa to seek solace by pool. Only once he was ensconced in a chaise and had taken several deep, calming breaths, did he begin to read.

 _R-_

 _I'm sorry. I know those two words in and of themselves are not nearly enough to make up for the things I said to you, the way I hurt you. There are times it seems like I'm forever injuring you with the barbs I sling your way and after the words are said, I find myself wondering where they came from, wish fervently that I could take them back. That they are half-truths or wholly lies said because I am hurt or angry and wish to wound you in the same way, makes it all the worse. Then all that is left is the two words that my pride so often prevents me from saying: I'm sorry._

 _It was a case, that's all this was ever supposed to be. Somewhere along the way, I changed the rules of the game, without even realizing I had, at least until it was too late. That list, that silly, little assignment. It was so enticing, the idea that we could indulge in something we so rarely do: pay one another sincere compliments. That I'd expected you to fall in line without even being aware I'd suddenly veered off course was unfair of me. I can admit that now. But at the time, caught up in the moment, the words you chose to describe my best attributes, I don't know, wounded, I guess. Given how hard we've worked these last months on communicating better with one another, learning how to truly be a couple together, I expected more. The irony of it all is that while I accused you of not taking the exercise seriously, when I thought later that night about what I'd written, I hadn't exactly been honest either. Safely honest, yes; but wholly honest, no. It made me realize how unjust my accusations were, castigating you for taking the safe route, while I had done exactly the same._

 _Your eyes have mesmerized me from the first day that we met. Your natural good humor that makes them sparkle, your innate goodness that warms them, the passion that lights them. The way their color darkens when you kiss me, and how when our lips part they are dazed with wonderment even after all these years. But most of all, how your eyes crinkle at the corners and turn the brightest blue when I manage, if only for a fleeting moment, to make you understand what you are to me. How could I not love your eyes?_

 _Your beautiful, gentle hands. The way your fingers rest at the small of my back when we walk. The way your fingers stroke my neck, brush my cheeks as we kiss. The way your fingers seek out my hair when you are feeling particularly close to me. Those touches throughout the day that tell me how much it means for you to be near to me. The feeling of your fingers laced with mine as we lay together. How could I not love your hands?_

 _The scent of you, earthy and warm. I only have to smell your scent to feel safe, comforted, cherished._

 _Your natural empathy for the underdog._

 _Your need to make the lives of the elderly better, richer._

 _The wonderful complexity of your mind. It staggers me. It keeps me on my toes. It challenges me. It beguiles me._

 _The way you hold me when we dance._

 _The way you hold me._

 _Your patience._

 _That you forgive without thought._

 _How could my life be better without you in it? I came to find you and bring you home because my life was so much less without you here each day. I don't want less of you, I want more. More of your smile, more of your laughter. More dancing with you, more of laying with you before the fire. More chasing mysteries with you, more curling up with you for a quiet night. More of your breath against my ear, more of your cheek pressed to mine. More of your arms around me, more of your lips touching mine. More of you, your presence, us._

 _L –_

Remington read the letter a second time, then a third, Laura's words, her handwriting, soothing his battered nerves. Rising, he refolded the letter, then returned it to her wallet in the bedroom. Lying down on the bed, he allowed the memory of her words to lull him to sleep. He dreamt of the spray of salt water, a light sprinkling of rain, of hair curling in the moist air and a pair of dimples flashing with joy.

(TBC)

* * *

 _ **A/N: Surprise! An extra excerpt this week. A little bit of sunshine before we dive back into the darkness. As promised, the remainder of Laura's abduction will be resolved in tomorrow's upload and then there is only a dark moment - just a moment - or two before Roselli's presence in their lives is dispelled with for good. ~ RS**_


	16. Chapter 16: Psychological Warfare

_**A/N: Hang onto your hats. As promised I am going to take you through the remainder of Laura's captivity in this upload. Just try to keep in mind as you read, there is always a method to my madness, though it might be apparent for several stories. ~RS**_

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleepy head," Roselli called out to Laura while slapping her cheeks. "It's time to wake up."

Shoving his hand away from her, Laura rolled over and tucked her head into the seat. She'd started rousing an hour and a half before, but even before her brain could begin functioning, self-preservation had kicked in instinctively, and she'd not given any indication she'd regained consciousness. She'd only been able to form a truly cognizant thought for the last thirty minutes, during which time she'd done a physical assessment of herself.

A hand moved tentatively over the back of her head confirmed a large lump where Roselli had slammed her head into the car as she'd attempted to alert the police officer of her predicament. Given the pounding headaches and slight nausea she was experiencing, she was fairly certain she'd sustained a concussion at his hands, and the stickiness in her hair led her to believe her head had been lacerated by the force employed against her as well. Movement of her feet set both on fire, confirming one or more wounds on both feet were infected. Careful rotation of her left ankle sent shooting pains down her foot and up her leg, confirming the old injury remained unchanged, which in an odd way gave her hope as she felt confident the ankle would support her next attempt for freedom.

 _God, my mouth is dry and my stomach hurts_ , she mentally moaned. Roughly calculating, given the second night had now started, she hazarded that she'd been without water for more than twenty-four hours and without any significant amount of food for nearly seventy-two.

Of everything on her checklist, her greatest concern by far was whatever drug Roselli was giving her. The hallucinations were vivid, effecting all her senses. The disassociation of mind from body was frightening. The ability to concentrate, to use logic, rationality more and more difficult with each subsequent dose. She'd lay odds that he was steadily increasing the amount he gave her, which, of course, he was.

This last round had served dual purposes for Roselli, as it had not only worked in accordance with his plan for Laura, but the effects had provided him the time he needed to run an errand while passing through Guadalajara without having to worry about her attempting to alert someone or trying to make a break for it again. He'd returned to the car a small package heavier, that might just prove to be the coup de gras for Laura Holt.

After Laura's little antics that afternoon, what miniscule patience Roselli had with her had completely vanished. In the morning they had one brief stop to make and then they would arrive at their final destination, after which they had a four-mile hike to his cabin. He needed a subdued, befuddled Laura, not the abrasive and combative woman she continued to be. To that end, he reached over and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He picked up a paper bag with his other hand and shook it.

"Food. I know you gotta be hungry."

She glanced at the bag and shook her head wordlessly. As hungry as she was, there was not a chance in hell she'd risk another dose of drugs in food or drink supplied by the man. He laughed, amused that she'd decline food at the risk of it being laced when he could simply inject her instead. That she was correct to be worried made it all the more entertaining to him. Pulling a cold burger from the bag, he unwrapped it and took a hearty bite, then shoved it in her direction.

"It's fine. Eat. We gotta a long hike in the morning, you're gonna need the energy."

Pushing herself up on the seat, she reached for the sandwich. Tearing off a piece, she tentatively placed it in her mouth. She gagged, unable to swallow it. Stretching over the front seat, Roselli sat back down, holding two cups in his hand.

"Coffee." Opening the lid of one cup, he took a swallow then handed it to her.

This, she took eagerly. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent deeply before taking a sip. _Heaven_ , her taste buds screamed, despite the slight bitterness without her usual dash of cream and sugar. Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes and savored each sip, allowing her mind to drift to comforting thoughts of home. She gave a short, silent laugh and her lips drifted upwards at the corner at the memory of the many mornings spent with she perched on the counter of the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, while watching Remington prepare their breakfast.

* * *

" _ **So, Mrs. Steele, is there anything in particular that tempts your palate this fine morning?" Remington asked, looking at her over his shoulder as he perused the contents of the refrigerator.**_

" _ **Mmmmmm," she hummed, with a sly smile on her lips. Knowing an upcoming challenge when he saw one, he turned to face her, eyebrow crooked and arms crossed, daring her to carry on. "Eggs Benedict," she deadpanned. With not a single English Muffin or slice of Canadian bacon in the house she was demanding the impossible. Her smirk was outdone only by his own in return.**_

" _ **Done," he said with confidence, then laughed at her baffled look. "Ah, I find myself disappointed that you have such little faith in your chef, love."**_

" _ **It's not lack of faith so much as lack of ingredients," she pointed out.**_

" _ **Only if you limit your imagination," was his quick response. "Seems most Americans have a rather pedestrian view of food, everything neat and orderly, no variation expected. Whereas Europeans indulge in experimentation, discovering new, enticing angles on the traditional." As he spoke she watched with interest as he placed arugala, avocado, a slice of breakfast ham, ground red pepper, chives and vinegar on the island. "The art of cooking could, in many ways, be compared to the art of love making."**_

" _ **Oh? Do tell," she requested, amused. He pursed his lips and tapped them with a finger. Then face lighting up, added a blender, oregano, semi-sweet chocolate morsels, salt, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, condensed milk, vanilla and pepper to the other ingredients on the counter. After retrieving a second avocado from the refrigerator, he peeled then sliced it. Half of the slices were placed in the blender, while the other half were set aside. Taking a plate from the counter, he blended vinegar and oil, then added a pinch of oregano, salt and pepper. Picking up slice of avocado, he dragged it through the mixture then held it to her lips. She took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring the tang of spices against the sweet fruit.**_

" _ **There are times you desire little more than something fast, with a bit of spice that will satiate your appetite without delay." He leaned forward, grasping her hips and easing her closer to the edge of the counter. He seized her mouth with a predatory kiss, teasing her lips with his teeth, her tongue with his, while tangling her hair in one hand to keep her close, as the other slid under her robe to tempt, to stir. He waited until her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer and a leg wrapped around his hip before releasing her, grinning at her passion dazed eyes and her quick pants. When she reached to draw him back to her, he stepped away. "Like a quick, passionate shag in the kitchen, in which we have previously indulged," he reminded her with a wag of his brows. Laura's eyes pooled with desire as she recalled their liaison in the kitchen at Ashford Castle.**_

 _ **Dipping another slice of avocado into the dressing, he handed it to her. Setting a small sauce pan on the stove, he added a half cup of chocolate morsels. She watched as he stirred it into a creamy sauce, the scent making her mouth water. The chocolate was added to the blender with the avocado, a cup of coffee, a teaspoon of vanilla, a cup and a half of condensed cream and several ice cubes. After blending it into a smooth shake, he poured a glass and handed it to her. Taking a drink, she closed her eyes and hummed with pleasure.**_

" _ **While at other times, expending the time and energy to coax from food a sweet pleasure that leaves you craving more is the call of the day." Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers, slowly deepening it into one of the sweetly possessive kisses that made her entire body hum. One of her hands ran up an arm to rake through his hair, while the other stroked up his side and around his shoulder. When his lips departed and found the sensitive skin of her neck, she arched her neck backwards with a soft sigh. "Like a long…" his lips journeyed to below her ear, as a hand eased her robe over her shoulder "… slow, evening of lovemaking…" he pressed kisses and suckled gently along her collarbone "…where every ounce of sensation is coaxed from your body…" his lips moved to her jaw, to trail up towards her lips "… and you are left aching for more." Her hands clutched his shoulders as his lips found hers again.**_

" _ **I'll never look at food the same way again," she hummed when their lips parted.**_

" _ **Stick with me, Mrs. Steele and I'll give you an entirely new view…"**_

* * *

"Laura…" Roselli snapped his fingers in front of her face, interrupting the sweet memory. Opening her eyes, she glared at him for his intrusion.

"What?" she asked bitingly, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.

"Not in a talkative mood tonight?" he chided.

"Sure, let's talk. How about answering a few questions for me. What are you giving me and why, for starters? It's not as though I can get away when you have me shackled," she jerked her hand several times where it was cuffed, for emphasis. "What exactly are your plans for me once we get to this cabin of yours? How long do you plan to keep me hostage? What do you think this is going to accomplish?"

"So many questions, so little time," he mused.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes narrowing at him.

"You'll know soon enough," he taunted. "But first, I have a little gift for you, straight from Los Angeles." Reaching into his pocket, he tossed her the small packet he'd picked up in Guadalajara. Laura eyed the envelope warily.

"What is it?" She fingered the flap, but didn't open it.

"Proof." Roselli smirked when he saw the slight tremor in her hands at his words.

Laura fingered the flap more firmly, staring at the envelope, willing herself to open it. She had to know. The division between her mind and heart, the fear he was gone and the comfort that he was still out there, was slowly driving her to the point of madness. She closed her eyes, as her finger worked at the flap. If he was gone at Roselli's hands, she would find a way to exact revenge. Roselli would no longer roam free to terrorize someone else, to take another life. If, however, Remington was alive, she'd find her way home to him and together they would take the man down. But no matter what, before all was said and done, she'd find out the answer of the "why" – why Roselli had targeted them as he had.

She knew the moment her fingers skimmed inside the envelope what she held. Roselli's gifts.

"Why dahlias?" she questioned, surprising even herself, unaware the question had been lingering in her mind.

"A reminder of where we met, and where we're gonna go back to." He laughed. "I gave that mind of yours more credit than I should have. Dahlias are grown, here, in Mexico."

She could only nod in answer, as she extracted the packet's contents. A full roll of film, she surmised, printed out in 4x6's. She glanced at the first picture. _Poor lighting and composition,_ she thought to herself, before she allowed herself to look at the image captured. She sucked in a harsh breath at the image of Remington pinned to the wall by two goons, the scene far too reminiscent of the night she'd been held from the ground in a pair of strong arms, left helplessly to watch as Buckner's men beat him.

* * *

" _ **I just don't like seeing you get hurt."**_

* * *

Her body quivered at the memory. That beating had finally forced her to admit that her decision in Cannes to end them had been a mistake. After months of missing him, aching for him, she'd finally found herself in his arms, her lips under his, his scent surrounding her. Her fingers touched her lips as she recalled the feel of his lips touching hers, hesitantly at first, then at last, in relief, he'd settled into the kiss. The moment had left her heart pounding, as the memory did now.

She searched Remington's face in the photograph and took hope in the gleam of defiance she saw in his eyes. Slowly, she thumbed through photograph after photograph as they told, systematically, the beating that her husband had taken. She had to choke back a sob, when the pictures showed Remington lying prone on the ground as feet made contact with his stomach, ribs, back, head. She moaned despairingly, unknowingly, at the final picture – a knife held near her husband's face. Without a word, she went through the last of the photos again, studying them as he lay still upon the ground, searching desperately for some sign of life.

She jerked backwards when the image on the paper before her seemed to breathe. Laying down the picture she rubbed at her eyes, then picked it up again. As the image's chest continued to rise and fall, she shook her head as realization sank in. She blinked, as Roselli's image seemed to double, triple then merge into one again.

"What did you give me?" she demanded to know, voice slurring.

"Now the real fun begins, Laura. It's time to make sure that mind of yours won't be able to put together the pieces of the puzzle when I'm done with you."

"What?!" she demanded again, far more harshly this time.

"Just a couple of blotters of acid," he laughed ominously, "although I imagine you won't enjoy the trip. At least not if I have anything to say about it, and I do."

Roselli sat back and watched as Laura did her best to fight the drug. Only when she'd finally succumbed fully to it, did he begin.

* * *

In the early morning hours, before the sun first made its hesitant first appearance, Roselli laughed uproariously as Laura's eyes rolled to the back of her head before she slumped over, unconscious. For hours he'd used a bevy of tactics he'd observed members of the Special Forces use in Vietnam against prisoners of war when trying to break them so that secrets could be extracted from their overtaxed minds. Psychological warfare, the Army had called it. He called it pure genius, as he took a final look at Laura before returning to the front seat to catch a short nap. He had a little visit to pay in the afternoon before he and Laura set off on the trek to his cabin, and he would need whatever energy he could store for the day ahead.

Curled up in a fetal position in the corner of the seat, even in her sleep Laura's body twitched violently. For more than three hours, she'd alternated between screaming in terror, while violently trying to pry the handcuff from her wrist so she could escape, and crying hysterically as her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Roselli seemed to take pleasure in giving her a respite for ten minutes here, five minutes there, only to start anew, each cycle worse than the last. Her overstimulated system was left with no other choice but to shut down and envelop her mind in the comforting presence of nothingness.


	17. Chapter 17: At a Premium

"There, there she is." Remington sat up straight in his seat and pointed to the young woman who'd just climbed out of a car by Guitierrez's residence. If his opinion were asked, given her attire, the woman had indulged in a fling the night before. Reaching for the handle to open the door, he turned his head and shot Murphy a glare when the other man grabbed hold of his upper arm.

"Let's be smart about this, Steele, and wait until whoever dropped her off leaves and she's inside her house. We don't want an altercation that will draw attention to ourselves, and we certainly don't need her slipping away now." Remington swiped his hand through his hair in irritation but gave a curt nod of agreement.

Two minutes later, they alighted from the car, Remington pausing to yank a backpack from the floorboard and slinging it over his shoulder.

"I'll cover the back," Murphy offered, already trotting off towards the wooden fence surrounding the back of the house. Scaling it skillfully, he dropped out of sight on the other side.

Remington waited at the front door until he assessed Murphy had long enough to get into position then knocked. Stepping back from the door, he watched the front windows for any sign of movement. Sure enough, after several seconds had elapsed, he saw a slat of the mini-blinds open slightly then close. Stepping back to the door, he knocked again. Silence. A minute or so elapsed before he heard scuffling coming from inside and the indignant screeches of a woman. The door swung open, to reveal Murphy holding an angry Conchita by the forearm.

"Ms. Guitierrez was kind enough to welcome me in through the back door," Murphy said drolly. His comment set off her temper and she attempted to yank her arm away again.

"Las manos sucios fuera de mí, hijo de puta," she screeched. Remington merely raised a brow in amusement. Murphy caught the expression.

"What?"

"She doesn't seem overly fond of your mother," he answered, bemused. Turning to Conchita, he carefully modulated his tone. "Conchita, I'm sure you recall as fondly as I our time spent together under a certain bed." Her lips quirked for a moment. "We merely have some questions for you."

"Y por qué quiero ayudar al esposo de la ramera que tomó mi hombre y me dejó en este agujero de infierno?" she spit out. Remington's brows furrowed into a frown.

"While I cannot comment on the status of my friend's mother, I'd appreciate it if you not cast such aspersions towards my wife. References such as the one you made, as inaccurate as it is, tend to incite my temper," he warned coldly. "Now, given the man of whom you speak has kidnapped my wife, my patience is not what it normally is. I want some answers and I want them now." She stopped struggling at his words, prompting Murphy to let go of her arm.

'¿Antonio llevó a su esposa? No lo creo. ¿Por qué llevaría?"

"In English for my friend here, if you don't mind," Remington prompted.

"Why? Why would Antonio take su esposa?" she demanded to know.

"That's what we're here to find out. You've spoken to my friend here, previously. From what you've told him, Antony developed a similar obsession with the woman in Mexico City," he pointed out. Conchita raised a dismissive hand at him.

"Mentiroso," she spit out, glaring at Murphy. "I never said any such thing."

"Do you need to see the notarized statement you signed?" Murphy challenged.

"My English, is not so good." She turned to Remington. "La mujer, ella era sólo una herramienta, como su esposa."

Remington glanced at Murphy, who was waiting expectantly for a translation from either Remington or Conchita. Scrubbing at his face, Remington stood torn. It was one thing for Laura to know his secrets, quite another to give Murphy a glimpse into them. Glancing from him to Conchita he muttered under his breath, "Bloody buggering hell." Blowing out a puff of air in frustration, he turned to the woman. "¿Que significa que eran ambas herramientas?"

"El hombre, en la ciudad de México, robó el trabajo de mi Antonio de él. Antonio había trabajado duro para convertirse en el supervisor de esa oficina. Fue una gran promoción y la siguiente nos llevaría a los Estados Unidos. Antonio decidió llevarse lo que era más importante para el hombre - su matrimonio. Él no quería la mujer," she flipped out a hand, curling her nose in distaste, "sólo pensaba si su marido se enteraba que ella le fue infiel, que empacar y dejar y el trabajo sería Antonio de como debería haber sido."

"Care to share, Steele?" Murphy drawled.

"The woman in Mexico City was never Roselli's target, it was the husband. He used her to get to him," Remington supplied before returning his attention to Conchita. "¿Y Laura, mi esposa?"

"Oy, ya le dije," she waved an impatient hand in Murphy's direction, "para llegar a usted."

"¿Por qué? Y no me dan algunos callos alrededor era su camino a América!" he demanded to know, voice rising.

"Esto, no sé. Antonio sólo dijo que había conseguido en su camino." Remington threw up his hands in frustration and took several steps away from the woman, rake a hand harshly through his hair. "She says she doesn't know why Roselli has developed this obsession with Laura, other than I've gotten in his way," he told Murphy, filling him in. Murphy shook his head, sharing in Steele's frustration.

"Find out if she knows anything about the two incidences in New Jersey that Mildred dug up," he suggested, figuring if nothing more, they might be able to learn a little more about the man.

"And how the hell is that supposed to help us find my wife, eh?" Remington exploded. "Three days, Murphy, it's going on three days that the man has had her. Who knows what he's done to her? We don't have time to sit around engaging in small talk!"

"Finding out as much as we can about the man is not small talk, Steele," Murphy answered, trying to maintain his calm. "The more we know about him, the better chance we have of figuring out what makes him tick."

" No me preocuparia sobre su esposa. Como ella trata a Antonio con respeto, ella vendrá a ningún daño," Conchita offered in empathy to the stricken man. Remington turned to her, apprehension written across his face.

"¿Y si ella no? ¿Lo tratan con respeto?" he demanded to know.

"Él hará lo que tiene que hacer para traerla en línea. Antonio tolera la falta de respeto de nadie," she answered with a shrug.

"Oh God," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What? What is it?" Murphy inquired, taking a step towards Steele.

"Simply that Roselli will do her no harm so long as she shows him respect," Remington answered, looking at the other man meaningfully, as his face turned three sheets of white.

"Oh God," Murphy echoed, turning away and scrubbing at his face with both hands.

Both men turned towards the backpack near the front door when the phone inside began to shrill. Remington strode quickly across the room, yanking the phone out with none of his usual aplomb.

"Steele," he bit out.

"Boss, Mrs. Steele left another message," Mildred replied without further ado. He scrambled through his backpack pulling out paper and pen.

"Read it to me," he told her shortly.

"'Reward. $$$$. Laura Steele, kidnapped from LA. Call the Remington Steele Agency. 212-555-9458. 4 door Oldsmobile Cutlass, older model. Brown with tan vinyl roof. New Jersey license plate, 557-IZO. Southbound. Being taken to a cabin, four miles from a roadway'," Mildred relayed.

"Anything else for me?" he asked, short and to the point.

"Only that Bumpers is trying to pull in some old favors to see if he can find out why Roselli was discharged from the Army."

"Let me know. Thank you Mildred." He hung up and in three short strides crossed the room to Conchita, slapping the pad of paper into Murphy's chest as he passed. He grabbed Conchita by her upper arms, leveling a ferocious look at her.

"Una cabina. ¿Roselli es el propietario de una cabina?" Conchita's eyes widened at the ire in his tone.

"Si," she answered quickly.

"¿Donde?"

"No sé. Sólo he estado a la pocilga poco desagradable una vez y se negó a devolver."

"¿Donde?" he demanded again, even louder, while giving the woman a shake.

"No sé," she protested, yanking her arms out of his hand and stepping several steps away. "¿Me? Yo no soy buena con las direcciones. Pero mi primo, Luis, tal vez conozcas. Él y Antonio solían hablar de él."

"¿Este Luis, donde lo encontramos?" She shook her head vehemently.

"Puedo encontrarlo, pero sólo podrá hablar con usted por un precio." Remington shook his head in disgust then turned to cross the room and retrieve his backpack.

"She has a cousin that may know where the cabin is, but at a premium," he informed Murphy. He watched as Murphy's face turned red with fury.

"What kind of man would charge…" Murphy began.

"A Malvado, I imagine," Remington interrupted, knowing immediately where Murphy's thoughts had gone. Returning to Conchita, Remington pulled a banded stack of money from his backpack, then grabbed her hand and slapped the money into it. "5 mil dólares para usted. Si tienes Luis aquí no más tarde…" he looked at his watch, "de 15:00, y nos puede proporcionar por lo menos cerca de esta cabaña, habrá 10 mil en él para él y otros cinco para ti. Me imagino que será una suma suficiente para que usted consiga en sus pies otra vez." He watched as the woman all but salivated at the sum of money he'd offered.

"Esta tarde a las tres," Conchita agreed.

With a final look of disgust cast her way, Remington shrugged a shoulder towards Murphy.

"Let's get out of here."

Surprisingly, Murphy offered up no argument, only a nod of his head, and followed Remington out the front door and to the car. In the passenger seat, Remington leaned back against the headrest and scrubbed at his face.

"So, what next?" Murphy asked, inserting the key into the ignition but not turning over the engine.

"Back to Las Hadas. I've some calls to make."

"You have something in mind." Remington nodded his head.

"I do. It's time to call in a favor."


	18. Chapter 18: Proof

Laura woke with a violent shudder, anticipating with trepidation hearing Roselli's voice guiding her demons yet again. Instead, in the silence, she heard the sound of his steady breathing. Drawing in a deep staccato breath, she curled up to face the back of the seat. She folded her hands together, rubbing a finger over her ring.

"Remington," she murmured quietly.

Her dreams had been a muddled mess of terror and memories. One of those memories flashed lightning fast through her mind. "Majak," she whispered. Nearly two years before, Remington had been kidnapped, drugged, beaten and interrogated by a group of counterfeiters. He'd barely staggered into the office before she'd drug him away, back to the ship on which he'd been kidnapped, ultimately solving what exactly it was being smuggled into the country on the ship. He'd seemed to recover quickly, at least at first. But for days afterwards he'd suddenly drift away as vague memories of the questions he'd been asked niggled at the back of his mind.

* * *

 _ **"Disturbingly vague, now, but, I get the uneasy feeling that the answers might frighten both of us."**_

* * *

She'd suspected he recalled precisely what those answers were, but revealing them would alter the fragile hold they had on their recently resumed personal relationship. She'd admittedly taken the easy way out, afraid herself to discover what those answers were.

* * *

 _ **"In that case, some questions are best left unanswered."**_

* * *

Her befuddled mind wondered, fleetingly, if she had pressed for the answers if they would have had more than a year of additional bliss together. _No William, no London, no Tony._ Would she be left mourning time lost for the rest of her life?

A tremor passed through her at the thought of never feeling, smelling, being quiet with, making love to Remington again.

"Remington," she whispered again. She choked back a sob as she tugged off her wedding band. Rolling over to her other side, her raw wrist burning painfully against the pull of the cuff, she stretched until she could inch up the floor mat. Scrunching up her face with determination, she forced herself to let go of the ring, then drop the mat to cover it.

It was all she had left of Remington, and the only thing she had to offer as proof that she'd been there.

Rolling back to face the seat, she let the wetness slide freely past her lashes before sleep washed over her once more.


	19. Chapter 19: Calling in Favors

When Murphy and Remington arrived back at the villa, Remington immediately called the Agency in order to collect a series of phone numbers from Mildred. Now, with them in hand, he nodded to himself. _Time to call in a favor._ Picking up the phone, he dialed the first phone number on his list. Heaving a sigh, he leaned his backside against the table while he listened to the hold music, swiping a hand through his hair as Phil Collin's "Against All Odds" segue-wayed into Chris de Burgh's "Lady in Red." Immediately, memories of the night he'd first danced with Laura swamped him, opening up a chasm where his heart was only seconds before. _Bloody hell, answer the damn phone already,_ he silently beseeched the person he was waiting on. He nearly said a thanks to the gods above when the music abruptly came to an end.

"RJ Stonewall," came the crisp, no nonsense female voice from the other side of the line.

"RJ, Remington Steele…"

"Well, now, Mr. Steele, what a surprise. Congratulations, again, on your marriage to Miss Holt. That gal is a firecracker, guaranteed to keep you on your toes," RJ laughed.

"She is certainly that. Never a dull moment and all…"

"So tell me what has you calling out of the blue like this? I hope you're not calling to tell me that scoundrel Veckmer is being paroled."

"No, no, nothing of the sort. I doubt he'll see the light of day without bars obstructing his view for the remainder of his life." Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and slowly released. "RJ, we need a favor."

"After what you and the missus did for me, you don't even have to ask. Shoot."

"I need your word that what I tell you stays under wraps. Mrs. Steele will be beyond, shall we say, miffed, should word get out."

"Of course. Confidentiality is the name of the game, right? Now spit it out."

"Laura was abducted three days ago. We should have her general proximity by three-thirty or so. I was hoping you might make available a few of those whirlybirds of yours, as well as pilots. I suspect we'll be able to find her location far more quickly by air than ground." RJ picked up a pen and slid a legal pad in front of her.

"What's the rendezvous point?" she asked, without hesitation.

"We're staying at the Las Hadas resort in Manzanillo. There's a small airport, not much to speak of but private, to the east." He recited his cellular phone number. "That phone is always with us. If they'll contact me once they arrive, I should have information on where we'll begin the search. I'll of course cover fuel charges and the pilots' time."

"You have my word, Mr. Steele, that I'll have three of my finest in the air and on the way within the next half hour," RJ vowed.

"I find there are no words to express the depth of my gratitude."

"Think nothing of it. After what you and Mrs. Steele did to save my Stoney's company, it seems a fair turn is more than due. Now let me get to work."

After saying their goodbyes, Remington hung up the phone then crossed the room to wearily slump down onto the couch catty-corner to where Murphy sat. Leaning forward, elbows pressed to knees, he dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair.

"Ah, I feel so bloody useless," he lamented, before rubbing hands over his stricken face.

"You're doing all that can be done, Steele," Murphy offered. Remington shook his head and glancing at his watch, vaulted to his feet to pace.

"Am I? We've three hours to sit about and wait, while the sodding bugger is doing who knows what to her! You heard what Conchita said: He won't harm her as long as she shows him respect. We both know her, Michaels. Laura is going to fight the bastard tooth and nail, use that razor sharp tongue of hers on him. What does that mean for her?" Murphy could only shake his head and hold up his hands as a sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Laura's a smart woman-" he began, trying to assuage Remington's fears.

"A smart woman with a formidable temper, one which most do not find as alluring as I!" He returned to the couch and set down, resting in his chin upon his knuckles as guilt swamped him. "I promised he'd not get another opportunity to harm her. When she most needed me, I let her down."

Murphy leaned back in his chair, mimicking Remington, resting chin on knuckles. "The Federal Reserve."

"What?" Remington asked, confused about the sudden turn in conversation.

"The Federal Reserve, the night that Laura fell from the beam as the crane lifted the two of you towards the roof."

"What about it?" Remington asked, beginning to get annoyed at Murphy's sudden whimsy of nostalgia, reminding him of another time he had nearly lost Laura.

"I'd been in love Laura for years, had actually believed that one day she would realize that we were meant for each other. The second you stepped into Remington Steele's shoes, I knew that day would never come. She fell for you, hard, while I could do nothing but stand back and watch. I finally decided to make a play for her, to try to convince her that I was the man she had been waiting for all along. We both know how that turned out," Murphy laughed quietly, "She wasted no time in setting me down, then promptly let you know that what you'd walked in on was not… mutual."

Remington stared at Murphy, unsure where this conversation was heading, why it was even occurring. He kept his silence as Murphy continued on.

"When I realized that she and I would never happen, I was ready to move back to Denver, start a new life: my own agency, start building towards a future. But I couldn't leave her without anyone to watch her back, keep her safe. The damned woman would dive into a rattlesnake pit in order to solve a case."

Murphy looked up as Steele gave a short, barking laugh.

"Aye, tha she would," he agreed with Murphy.

"When she fell from that beam at the Federal Reserve, I knew I could leave. The look on your face as you tried to grab her, to pull her to safety said it all. It was clear that you would have done anything to exchange places with her, even if it meant losing your own life."

"I would have, could I have," Remington confirmed, quietly.

"I know," Murphy nodded. "So stop blaming yourself now. Laura and I have spoken enough over the years for me to know how many times you've bailed her out of a tough spot, how many times you've saved her life. You did everything you could to keep her safe from him. You had no way of knowing that Roselli was back in LA. You did _everything_ I would have done to keep her safe," Murphy paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out before continuing. "You've also done something I don't think anyone else ever could have."

"What's that?"

"You took down all those barriers she'd erected after Wilson. She no longer has just the Agency to give her purpose. I never thought I'd see the day it would come in a distant second to something else. But it has….to you. She'll fight to make it home to you, Steele, because if for no other reason she'll do anything in her power to protect you from the pain of losing her."

Remington closed his eyes, and battled his emotions back as they threatened to engulf him. "She's everything to me, Murphy."

"I know she is, as you are to her. Hold onto that and believe we'll get her back."

Remington nodded his head then opened his eyes, looking at Murphy. "Thank you." Murphy gave him a sharp nod, then stood.

"I need to go check in with Sher. Meet me at the hotel restaurant in an hour. We'll grab ourselves something to eat before meeting with Guitierrez again."

Remington showed Murphy out before pouring himself a glass of water and wandering outside to sit in the lounge near the pool. Staring out at the foliage beyond the wall of the patio, he found himself lost again in his memories.

* * *

 _ **"But haven't we been avoiding it? Afraid of what comes after that magical moment?"**_

 _ **"What does come after?"**_

 _ **"I don't know."**_

* * *

It had been a lie. As he'd recognized the night after they'd first made love at Ashford Castle, he'd known for a long time that once he'd been a part of her, he'd never be able to let her go. He'd want it all with her: home, marriage, children, a lifetime. He'd always know they were meant to be, but he'd never anticipated the quiet joy they'd shared since they'd finally surrendered to one another. Now he recalled the words of wisdom he'd shared with her during the Shane case.

* * *

 _ **I don't know what I'd do if my world suddenly fell apart like that."**_

 _ **"You'd go on. Because that's the only choice any of us ever have."**_

* * *

Now, he had to ask himself: _How do you go on, when your heart has been ripped from your chest, leaving a gaping hole where once there was only contentment, happiness, love?_


	20. Chapter 20: A Starting Point

Laura woke to a hand clamped over her mouth and a bitter taste in her mouth. Her free hand automatically reached for Roselli's hand, trying to pry it away. Her eyes grew wide as she gagged against whatever he'd slipped her while she was sleeping. Desperately, she clawed at his hands, drawing blood but to no avail. Her bound hand yanked against the cuff, trying to reach him, only succeeding in gouging further into her raw skin there. With no choice left but to swallow or suffocate, she swallowed, drawing a laugh from him. Releasing her, he quickly grabbed the cord of rope where he'd tossed it onto the floor and bound her feet, tying them to the door handle.

"What did you give me?" she gasped the question.

He glanced at her, before retrieving a second pair of cuffs from the floorboard and reaching for her hand. Realizing his intent, she began to struggle anew, her only satisfaction as he overpowered her coming when her fingernails scored his face. The results were still the same: both hands cuffed an anchored to the underside of the seat. A cloth stuffed in her mouth completed her absolute captivity. His hand reached for his face and he stared at the blood on his hand for a long second.

"You'll pay for that, Laura," he warned ominously.

Climbing over the front seat, he sat in the driver's seat and started the car.

Ten minutes into the drive, a frighteningly familiar feeling settled over Laura's mind. When she whimpered, knowing what was coming, he turned back to look at her, a grin lighting his face.

"Let's have a little fun," he goaded, then began the litany she'd had to endure the prior night and her nightmare began all over again.

* * *

Roselli's stop in Colima was a brief as it was brutally effective. Returning to the car, Laura's muffled screams only added to his sense of satisfaction. When they reached Mex-98, he put the car in gear and gunned the engine. They should reach their destination by two-thirty, leaving plenty of daylight for the four-mile hike ahead.

Midway into the trip, as Laura frantically tugged against her restraints trying to escape her unending nightmares, he heard the crack of plastic. Turning to look at her, he watched as she drew her legs upwards towards her body, curling up into a fetal position as she babbled to herself against the gag. With a shrug of his shoulders, he drove on.

* * *

Remington and Murphy arrived back on the doorstep of Conchita's house at 2:58 pm, money in hand. They knocked several times, getting no response. Remington finally indicated to Murphy to keep a watch, then pulled the leather case he always carried out of his pocket. He made quick work of picking lock and the two men went inside, quietly closing the door behind them.

The moment the two men cleared the hallway, they knew help would no longer come from this avenue.

The living room was chaos: furniture toppled and broken, pictures askew on the walls or lying broken on the floor. A silent look passed between the two men, Murphy moving left toward the kitchen, Remington straight ahead towards the bedroom. Before entering the bedroom, Remington knew what he'd find as a coppery smell heralded his arrival. It was clear the struggle had continued in here, before it had ended permanently.

On the far side of the bed, Remington kneeled down next to the body of Conchita Guitierrez. Avoiding the woman's open eyes and death gaze, he placed finger to neck and, as expected, found no pulse. She was already cooling to the touch, telling him she'd been dead for at least a couple of hours. Swiping at his face and shaking his head, he stood and took in the room. Small puddles of blood covered the bedspread, revealing that at some point she'd been stabbed, multiple times, while battling with her aggressor there. The blood spatter against the headboard attested to the degree of frenzied violence that had ended her life. Glancing briefly at Conchita again, his numbed mind noted that the large pool of blood beneath her confirmed that it was where she lay that her throat was slit, ending her life.

"My God," Murphy mumbled in horror upon entering the room. He'd turned up nothing in the kitchen and now saw why. "Guitierrez?"

"Dead," Remington answered succinctly. "Brutally so."

"You don't think-"

"I do."

Both men came to full alert at the sound of the front door closing. Murphy quickly concealed himself behind the bedroom door as Remington crouched down between dresser and bed. When a tall, well-built, bearded man entered the room, Remington charged, slamming him against the wall. Murphy pulled his gun from his holster and shoved it into the man's gut. Eyes widening, the man glanced from face-to-face, lifting his hands slowly in the air.

"No busco problemas, hombre," the man told them.

"¿Quién eres y qué hacer negocios ¿tienes aquí?" Remington volleyed back.

"Luis Rodriguez. Esta es la casa de mi primo. Quiero conocerla aquí."

"Conchita? Conchita is your cousin?" Remington demanded to know.

"Si, si. Conchita." Remington grasped the man by his neck and propelled him towards the other side of the bed.

"Allí! Hay Conchita! Me imagino que tienes Roselli agradecemos!" Remington told the man, voice rising. Behind him, Murphy grimaced as he watched Luis hit his knees in shock and sorrow.

"Steele…" Murphy said quietly.

"I don't give a damn. He needs to see what his comrade is capable of. The man thought nothing of helping Roselli set up Laura in the jungles by the hotel, arranging Keyes murder. It's long past due that he sees what's he climbed into bed with!" Remington answered in barely contained fury. The man in question lifted tortured face to look at him.

"¿Roselli? ¿Roselli hizo esto a mi primo hermoso?" Remington grabbed the man by his shirt, lifting him to his feet and shoving him against a wall again.

"Sí. Y quiero saber dónde encontrarlo antes de que él puede hacer lo mismo con mi esposa!" Remington gave the man another shove for good measure. "¿Ahora, donde en el infierno es esta cabina de Roselli?" The man glanced at Conchita then back to Remington.

"Nunca he estado allí. Sólo sé lo que él me ha dicho. Que la cabina está entre Potrero Grande y Las Guásimas de Mex-98. Es en las selvas de las montañas, más allá del río."

"¿Qué más?" Remington demanded to know.

"¡Nada! Nada que es aislada la cabina. Nadie millas una manera. Un lugar donde un hombre puede perder a sí mismo, según Roselli. ¿Crees que ¿no te digo, después de lo que ha hecho a mi dulce primo? Dios mío. Sólo le pido que cuando lo encuentres, mostrarle la misericordia que mostró a mi primo." Remington released the man and turned to Murphy.

"A secluded cabin, between Potrero Grande and Guasimas off of Mexico 98. The cabin is past a river. That's all he knows of it," Remington filled Murphy in. Murphy nodded.

"Let's get out of here then," Murphy suggested. "We can tip off the local police anonymously about Conchita at the first payphone we see." Remington nodded his agreement. Picking up his backpack, he moved to follow Murphy out of the bedroom.

"¿Mi tarifa? ¿Que prometiste Conchita?" Luis inquired. Remington turned and looked at the man, shaking his head in disgust. Opening his backpack, he withdrew two stacks of money and threw them at the man.

"Lealtad familiar, eh?" he couldn't help but remark, before turning and leaving the room.

Three blocks away, Murphy pulled over so Remington could make that call to the police. On the drive back to Las Hadas, Remington sat silently praying that the cellular phone would ring, signifying the arrival of the helicopters and pilots.

 _Hold on, love, I'm coming._


	21. Chapter 21: One Last Attempt

Laura jerked awake to a sting in her arm, her unfocused eyes watching as the needle in Roselli's hand was extracted from her upper arm. The LSD he'd forced on her earlier still had somewhat of a hold on her mind, but as sluggish as her brain was, it still registered the question of what he had in mind now. She watched numbly as he released both cuffs from her wrists, and went compliantly with him when he yanked her from the car. Her knees buckled beneath her and she hit the ground hard on her bottom while Roselli smirked. Digging his fingers into her arm, he yanked her back up to her feet then tied the rope already anchored to a belt loop on his pants to a belt loop on her shorts.

"No time for that. Now we hike," he told her, keeping a firm grip on her arm and propelling her towards the dense foliage. "I'd suggest you keep up. Trust me when I say, you don't want to be walking in the jungle after dark."

It was less acquiescence than the drugs that sent Laura stumbling behind him into the brush. With her gimp ankle and her drug soaked brain, she stumbled often and at times found herself sprawled out on the ground, unaware of how she got there. Plants breathed visibly, and several times she was left screaming hysterically as undergrowth became snakes weaving around her ankles and spiders on leaves became giant creatures with fangs as long as her fingers. Through each terror filled moment, she could hear Roselli's cackling laugh as he enjoyed her torment. All the while, some small, functioning part of her brain, had her fingers working meticulously at the rope that kept them bound together.

They'd hiked for nearly an hour before the LSD fully released its hold on her. Groggy from whatever he'd injected her with, exhausted from hours of terror, one thought ravaged her mind: _Go, go, go, go, go._ Carefully releasing the final tie of the rope, she darted to her right, deep into the jungle. Thirty seconds later she heard Roselli roar.

"Lauraaaaaaaa!"

Fury lit his blood, and panting heavily he stood still to listen for any sound indicating in which direction she'd gone. The snapping of twigs told her she'd taken off to the north and he gave chase, bellowing her name once more.

Laura shoved her way through the dense foliage, not caring as branches snapped back to score her arms, face and legs with scrapes and small lacerations. She ignored the almost blinding pain each time her left ankle twisted or collapsed. Each time she found herself splayed on the ground, she picked herself back up and pushed on. She focused on one thing and one thing only: escape.

A sob bubbled up in her throat when at last the thick brush cleared and she saw daylight, only to find herself standing on the side of a deep ravine leading to roaring river below. Desperately, her eyes searched for a crossing to the left and then the right, finding no route that would allow her past the natural barrier to her freedom. Frantically, she sprinted westward, hoping to she'd find a way to cross or a place to hide before Roselli caught up to her.

Her entire body trembled as she watched Roselli emerge from the brush not ten feet from her. Given her injured feet and ankle and the drugs that made her reactions much slower than normal, he quickly corralled her between his body and the edge of the ravine. Laura's eyes darted around the man, searching for a way past him as he slowly moved toward her. When he reached out to grab her, she desperately shoved a palm into his nose, feeling some small sense of satisfaction when she felt it crack under her hand and he roared. The pleasure in that small piece of retribution for all he'd put her through was short lived.

"You bitch!" he roared.

The right hook he threw in retaliation caught her under the chin, sending her toppling off balance. Her arms flailed at the air before she began tumbling down the rock strewn fifty-foot slope of the ravine. She landed hard on the bank of the river, crying out a small, muffled moan at the blinding pain that shot through her. Then, blackness fell and there was only blessed nothingness. For the first time since her ordeal had begun, she finally, truly escaped both the torment and her tormentor.


	22. Chapter 22: Closing In

RJ had called Remington at four-twenty to let him know the helicopters and pilots had at last arrived. Providing her the area in which the search would be conducted, she assured him, once fueled, the whirlybirds would be in the air on their way to scour the nearly two-mile distance between Potrero Grande and Guasimas. Neither Remington nor Murphy were up to waiting out the phone call updating them from more than an hour and half away. Thus, Murphy once again called on room service to provide sandwiches and thermoses of coffee to fortify their bodies for whatever might come.

They arrived in Potrero Grande shortly before six-thirty settling in at a small diner, nursing bitter coffees while waiting for the phone to ring. Remington found himself unable not to consider the dusk settling across the mountains. Even in the light of day, locating one car, a small cabin amongst 8 square miles would be like trying to find a piece of yarn hidden amongst fields of hay. But at dusk, then later in the evening, even with search lights? Each minute that ticked past represented arriving one minute closer to having to make it through until yet another night without her.

He gripped her wedding band tightly in his palm and said a prayer that word… some word… _any_ word, would soon come.

"I never realized you spoke Spanish, Steele," Murphy commented, interrupting his reverie. Remington flicked his eyes towards the man, then away again.

"Spent a bit of time in South America. Seemed wise to learn the language if I didn't wish to find myself at the mercy of another."

"Is there a Continent that you've managed to miss traveling through?" Remington gave a careless shrug.

"Perhaps one or –" He stopped speaking when the phone began to ring. He snatched it up and quickly punched the talk button. "Steele here." The line crackled, but he was unable to understand the voice at the other end of the line. Punching the end button in frustration, he uttered a string of colorful curses, drawing Murphy's raised brows. Craning his neck, he looked around the diner then stood when he saw a pay phone sign by the restrooms. After securing a handful of quarters from the cashier, with the assistance of the operator he called RJ's office number. RJ picked up on the second ring and wasted no time getting down to business.

"My pilots believe they've located the car, Mr. Steele, three quarters of a mile outside of Guasimas. Head that way and keep your eyes peeled to the sky. One copter will be hovering near the location. In the meanwhile, Sam is going to set down at the closest clearing and will flag you down when you've arrived."

"We're on our way," Remington answered. Thanking her quickly, he hung up the phone, then headed towards the front door of the diner with a wave in Murphy's direction. Murphy dumped several bills on their table then grabbed the cellular phone and followed him out. "They believe they've found Roselli's car."

"What are we waiting on then?" Murphy asked as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the car. The tires spun as he put the car in gear and depressed the accelerator.

"You watch the road, I'll watch above," Remington instructed.

Less than two minutes down the road, Remington pointed above. "The whirlybird, there." He turned his attention to the road. As they turned the next bend, they saw an older man waving them towards a dirt road, if one could call it that, on the left. Turning onto it, Murphy parked the car and he and Remington alighted from the vehicle.

"Sam Calhoun," the man introduced himself. "The car is just down around the curve ahead." Remington and Murphy fell into step next to him. "I've already confirmed make, model and the license plate you provided, Mr. Steele. It's definitely the car you've been looking for."

"Any signs of anyone?" Remington asked, hoping against hope, although he already knew the answer.

"Not a one. My guess is they set out on foot." Sam held a hand towards the right hand side of the road. "See for yourself."

Remington and Murphy quickly circled the car, opening the doors to the front seat. A search of the underside of seats, glove box and compartment yielded only a map with no notes of interest. Moving to the back seat, Remington opened the door and growled low in his throat.

"The sodding bastard had her cuffed," he told Murphy, pointing as he stooped down to examine the cuffs. He closed his eyes as he found blood rimming the inside edges of one. "She fought them," he surmised aloud.

"It's Laura," Murphy replied, holding Remington's gaze for a long second. He nodded towards the broken door handle. "It looks like he had her anchored to the door at some point. The scraping against the vinyl," he pointed.

"Here as well," Remington noted. Ripping up the floor mat, his heart clenched. His hand tremored slightly as he picked up her wedding band then held it up for Murphy to see. "She wanted someone to know she was here." Pushing himself to his feet, he reached around behind his neck and unclasped his chain, adding her wedding band to the engagement ring already hanging there before resecuring it.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Steele." Remington turned to look at the man, raising a brow. "Searching for that cabin tonight is out of the question. Even with search lights, the terrain… the tree and foliage cover… Unless it was lit up like a Christmas tree, which I seriously doubt, we'd never find it. Better for us to start at break of day."

Remington was tempted to argue, but as he'd already speculated much the same himself, there seemed little point.

"In the meantime," Sam continued, while handing Remington a portable, two-way radio, "take this. That cellular gizmo you're carrying won't be likely to receive reception up here. I'll call you when we're ready to go up in the morning."

"I appreciate all you've done, mate." Remington extended his hand to the man, and handshakes exchanged, Sam made his way back down the road.

"There's nothing else we can do tonight, it seems. Let's head back to the hotel and get a good night's sleep," Murphy told Remington, with a clap of a hand on his shoulder.

"You go on, mate. I'll be staying here tonight on the off-chance either returns for something," Remington told him, opening the door to the back seat to get in.

"Steele, the odds of –"

"I don't care. This is the closest I've been to her in days and I'll not leave. Go. Meet me back here in the morning."

"You're not going to be able to sleep—" Murphy tried again.

"I've slept in far worse places, believe me. I'll be fine. Go. Call Sherry. Check in with Mildred, if you will. Let her know we're close. She'll be beside herself by now." Murphy considered him at length then nodded.

"I'll be back before sunrise." Remington merely nodded and slid into the backseat of the car, closing the door behind him and settling in for the long night ahead of him.

* * *

"Tell me you didn't leave him there by himself, Murph," Sherry admonished. Murphy scratched his head while looking around the empty diner.

"Only long enough to check-in with you, though God knows a night sleeping in a car holds no appeal. The man's a wreck, Sher."

"As though you'd be any less of a mess if it were me instead of Laura," she pointed out.

"True. Listen, Sher, I need to ask you a favor…" Murphy hedged.

"What is it, Murph?"

"Tomorrow. Can you go to the agency and just stick close for the day? If the news isn't good, I don't think I have it in me to tell Mildred, Bernice…"

"Of course. I'll be there first thing."

"Sher…" Murphy began, voice strained.

"I know, Murph. I love and miss you too. Hopefully this will be all over soon."

"God, I hope so. For all of our sakes, but especially theirs." Murphy sighed. "Good night, Sher. I love you."

"Get some sleep, honey."

"I'll try." Shaking his head, he hung up the phone, then after feeding it another slew of change, dialed the Agency, whose phones were set to be forwarded to Mildred's home after hours for the duration of this debacle.

"Remington Steele Agency, Mildred Krebs speaking," Mildred answered the phone.

"Mildred, it's Murph—"

"Mr. Michaels! Have you found Mrs. Steele? Is she alright?" Mildred interrupted, her tone bordering on frantic.

"Not yet. We have located the car, however. The helicopters will be back up at sunrise. Hopefully by this time tomorrow she'll be back home safe and sound."

"And the boss? How's he holding up?"

"He's keeping it together… for her." Mildred nodded knowingly on the other side of the line.

"Hanging on by a thread, then," she noted.

"Yes, but the important thing is he _is_ hanging on. Nothing's going to keep him from getting Laura back."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that. Those two kids…" she shook her head and laughed, sadly, "… I've watched for years as they battled it out, danced around one another. It took them a while to admit it, but both know neither of them is whole without the other." Her words gave Murphy pause.

"Mildred, if you could spread the word that we're close," he requested, tucking away his thoughts for now.

"I'll do that."

"We'll call you tomorrow with an update." Hanging up the phone, Murphy said a small prayer that the next phone call would contain good news. Ordering a hot tea and coffee to go, he was on his way back to Roselli's car in short order.


	23. Chapter 23: Freedom

Day Four

Tuesday, October 21, 1986

Remington paced alongside Roselli's car, watching as the sun slowly peeked over the horizon. Glancing at his watch, he cursed the lack of Daylight Savings Time in Mexico, placing sunrise at just shy of eight o'clock in the morning. He hadn't slept worth a damn, not that he'd expected to, dozing instead in fits and starts. Scrubbing at his whiskered face – he hadn't bothered shaving for three days now – he jumped when the radio clutched in his hand squawked and then a voice came across.

"Mr. Steele, do you copy?"

"Steele here. I copy."

"We're ready to get in the air, sir," Sam radioed back. "I'll contact you as soon as we have anything."

"Thank you, Sam."

Remington's hand holding the radio dropped to his side as he looked skyward. _Please, let them find her_ , he prayed.

* * *

Laura had awakened sometime in the wee hours of the morning as she felt a pinch in her arm. A part of her brain registered that Roselli had injected her with something again, but this time she didn't care. She only said a small thanks as the pain ravaging her body backed off, before she drifted off into unconsciousness.

The next time she woke, light was filtering into the room and she sighed as she felt the warmth of Remington's body tucked around hers, smiling when his hand tightened further around her waist. Wriggling over, smiling at how her body ached after a long night of making love to him, she nipped at her lower lip as his bright blue eyes met hers. She lifted a hand to brush that stubborn lock of hair back from his forehead.

"I want you," she murmured, her heart warming at the bright smile that lit his face at her words. Rising on an elbow he nudged her to her back, then leaned down to touch his lips to hers.

She lost herself in his kiss, barely noticing as he quickly unbuttoned her blouse, yanking it out from under the waistband of her shorts, shoving her bra up and out of the way quickly. His hand grabbed her breast roughly, giving her nipple a rough, sharp tug. Something in her brain woke up at the action, and she tried to shove him away. He tasted wrong, lacking that rich, deep flavor that she'd come to associate with him over the years. He smelled wrong, the earthy and spicy smell that never failed to titillate her senses was missing. But most of all, his touch was wrong, his skin too rough, the way his fingers would explore her waist, her curves absent.

She gasped, frantically trying to remove herself out from under the body on top of hers as adrenaline cleared her mind and she found herself staring up not at Remington but Roselli. She arched her back, trying to put space between them, then mewled at the pain that sliced through her shoulder and ribs at the movement.

"Get off of me," she screeched, pounding a closed fist against Roselli's shoulder as he laughed at her.

"Not happening, Laura. There's nothing I hate more than a little tease. You offered and you'll follow through now," he told her, leaning down and biting her shoulder. She raked her nails down his face in answer, causing him to rear back, furious. The slap he delivered across her face dazed her for long seconds, time enough for him move his mouth to her breast and yank at the button of her shorts, popping it free before he tugged down the zipper. When his hands tugged at the waistband, blind panic set in.

"No, Tony, no," she begged, shoving at his hand, while clamping her legs together as he tried to climb over her. He pressed a knee hard into her thighs, while a hand dug into the other, trying to pry her legs apart. "Stop, you're hurting me," she cried out, then could only scream as he at last pried her legs apart and settled between them.

* * *

"Mr. Steele, do you copy?"

Remington whirled around and grabbed the radio off the trunk of the car against which he was leaning. It had been a little over three hours without a word. Murphy spun on his heel where he was pacing and turned to listen, holding his breath, hoping for good news.

"Steele here. I copy, go ahead."

"We believe we may have found the cabin, Mr. Steele. There's a clearing about a quarter mile down the road towards Guasimas. I'll pick you up there." Remington's knees buckled at the news and he found himself leaning hard against the car.

"We'll be there," he answered, finding purchase on his feet again, and sprinting to the rental car.

They arrived at the field in record time, and impatiently had to wait until the helicopter set down. Crouching down, he and Murphy quickly boarded the aircraft, and yanked on the earphones awaiting them.

"I can get you within a football field's length from the cabin," Sam filled them in. "You'll have to hoof it out the rest of the way. There's a clearing directly in front of the house, but I think we'd be wise not to give the man who has your wife too much warning if we can avoid it. There are enough helicopters passing through the area for sightseeing tours that my men flying over the cabin as we land should disguise our approach."

"How long out?" Remington demanded to know, voice strained.

"Less than two minutes," the pilot answered.

Remington swiped a hand through his hair as his foot tapped frenetically against the floorboards. By the time the helicopter set down, he was already on his feet.

"Straight ahead, about a thousand feet," Sam directed.

Remington and Murphy vaulted from the helicopter and charged through the underbrush, ignoring the tears at their skin by the thick foliage. It was only when the blades of the helicopter stopped whirring that they could hear Laura's blood curdling scream as it ripped through the air. Remington's feet froze beneath him at the sound.

"Laura!" Remington yelled, then found himself propelled forward by a hard shove against his back at Murphy's hands.

"Go!" Murphy commanded.

Remington didn't give another thought as he and Murphy hurdled through the foliage, hitting the clearing at a dead run.

* * *

Laura moved her head from side-to-side, trying frantically to avoid Roselli's lips from making contact with hers again, while she continue to hit and shove at his shoulder in an attempt to move him off of her. Grabbing her hand, he forced it back onto the pillow as his mouth found hers, and he attempted to slide his tongue past her lips. Instinctively, Laura clamped her teeth down on his tongue, grinding her teeth against it, until he reared back his head and roared in pain, while blood trickled down his chin. Wasting no time, she shoved her thumbnail into his right eye, making him rear back further – far enough that she was able to bring her knee up, hard, into his groin. Grabbing at himself, he rolled off of her.

Leaping to her feet, she scrambled across the room, desperately opening the various drawers in the kitchenette. Relief swamped her as she came up with a chef's knife, although that relief was short lived when Roselli managed to stagger to his feet, effectively blocking her from the only door in the cabin. She backed away from him, waving the knife in his direction, as he slowly approached her, fury painting his face.

"You're going to pay for that, Laura," he hissed, then cackled when her face registered her dismay as she found she'd backed herself, quite literally, into a corner of the room. "What now?" he taunted.

She blinked her eyes several times as the room swam in front of her. Seeing his opportunity, Roselli lunged, only to roar in outrage as her blind swing of the knife cut a jagged path from cheekbone to chin.

Both of them jumped as the door to the cabin splintered open and Remington spilled through the opening. With Laura distracted, as she blinked her eyes and shook her head trying to comprehend what she was seeing, Roselli charged her.

Remington could only watch as the man took Laura off her feet, slamming her hard into the wall behind her. Her head connected with a dull thud against the timber, dazing her further. The knife held in her hand skittered across the floor. He rushed the man, shoulder low, as he watched his petite wife slipped down to the floor with moan. Shoulder connected with gut, and both men landed on the floor, struggling to come up on top.

"Laura, okay?" Remington yelled to her. He stole a quick peek at her when his question went unanswered and watched her head loll. Shoving the man on top of him off, he made it to his feet. Lifting his fists, he tried again.

"Laura, okay?" Her silence was deafening and he turned fully to look at her, not noticing the knife in the man's hand was slicing towards him until the last second. He sucked his breath in hard as the blade sliced into his skin, but still managed to drop down to hands and knees and scurry towards his partner.

Murphy, finding no entrance at the rear side of the building rushed through the front door, grunting when the man shoved him into the wall before making his escape. Murphy scrambled to his feet, fast in pursuit of the man. He'd made it across the porch, when the sound of Steele's voice yelling his name made his blood run cold, the fear in that voice was so thick, so prevalent. Spinning on his heel, he'd just crossed the threshold when he spied Remington on his knees, holding Laura, the man's eyes nothing less than haunted.

"Get on the radio, call for help. _Now, Michaels_!" Turning his attention back to Laura, he brushed the hair away from her face. "Oh God, babe, what's happened to you?" he whispered.

Murphy quickly compressed the button on the radio and called out to Sam. "Sam, this is Michaels. We need the helicopter in front of the cabin. We've found her and need to get her to the closest hospital, _now!"_

"Copy that, I'll be there within two," Sam answered back.

Murphy turned to look at Laura and Remington. Remington's body effectively blocked his view of his former partner. Scooping her up in his arms, Remington staggered to his feet and out the door to wait for the helicopter to arrive, all the while speaking to her. "I'm here, love… It's all over now… We're taking you to the hospital… You're going to be okay." He sucked in a hard, pain ridden breath when he saw the raw skin of her wrist on her dangling arm. Turning to Murphy, he demanded, "What taking so bloody long?"

The words had no sooner passed his lips than the helicopter skirted past the trees and began to land. Remington carried Laura to the helicopter, refusing to hand her off to Murphy after the other man had boarded. Once he was on board and the door closed, Murphy directed Sam to depart. Remington barely registered Sam radioing the local airport for directions the closest hospital.

It was only as the helicopter banked right, heading towards the helipad at Echaurí Surgical Medical Centre that Murphy got a glance at Laura's face, as her hair fell away.

"Oh, my God," Murphy whispered. "What did he do to her?"

Remington pulled Laura closer to his body, protectively.

"I don't know. I don't know." He leaned down and kissed the top of Laura's head, keeping her tucked against him throughout the twenty-minute flight. When they landed on the hospital heliport, he carried her out of the helicopter, placing her on the waiting stretcher. Grabbing her hand, he ran alongside of the stretcher as Laura was rushed into Emergency.

(TBC)

* * *

 _ **A/N: Alright, folks. We're through the most harrowing part. As promised, Roselli returns only twice more, briefly, then we'll be rid of the slime ball for good.**_


	24. Chapter 24: Vigil

Nearly four hours after their arrival at the hospital, Murphy made the call back to LA, to provide an update on Laura. Remington was in the ER with her, refusing to leave her side while the doctors assessed her injuries. She still had not awakened or shown any indication of near consciousness.

Mildred picked up on the second ring of the Agency phone.

"Remington Steele Agency. Mildred Krebs speaking. How may I help you?" she asked by rote.

"Mildred, it's Murphy. Can I speak with Sherry, please?"

"Did you find Mrs. Steele, Mr. Michaels?" Mildred asked anxiously.

"Mildred, I need to speak to Sherry for a minute. Please." Murphy hated to put the burden on Sherry of telling Laura's loved ones her status, but she was a trained psychologist and he knew would find the least painful way of doing so.

"Murphy?" Sherry asked as she came on the line. "Do you have her? Is everything okay?"

Murphy took a deep breath, trying to control himself. "We have her," he told his wife, then his voice cracked, "But she's not okay."

"Hold on a second, Murph." Sherry put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and when she returned told him, "I'm going to pick up the phone in Laura's office. Give me a second."

Sherry walked into Laura office and closed the door. Picking up the extension she told Mildred she could hang up. She waited until she heard the other phone click off before she spoke.

"Talk to me, honey," Sherry told Murphy gently.

"It's bad, Sherry, really bad."

Her breath hitched. "She's not… she's not…"

"She's alive, barely," his voice cracked again. He didn't think the vision of what he saw would ever leave his head.

She let out the breath she had been holding. "How bad? What do you know?"

"The doctors are still assessing her. Right now, we know she's severely dehydrated and bordering on malnourished. An MRI has confirmed two separate concussions, Grade 2. Both of her eye orbitals are fractured, one cheekbone fractured as well, along with three ribs. Her shoulder was displaced, but they've managed to put in back in place. The Achilles tendon in her left ankle is completely severed. She's going to need surgery for that injury, once her body is up to it. She has lacerations over her hands, arms, legs and feet. Multiple wounds in her feet are infected and one or more of those have caused blood poisoning. Her temperature has stayed steady since we got here at 104 degrees. They have her on antibiotics and IV's for the dehydration and are watching to see if the symptoms she's showing develop into further complications. She has several needle marks in her arms. We're waiting on the results of the tox screen. That's all we know right now. The doctors said it may be hours before they know the full extent of her injuries."

"Oh God, Murph. What did that maniac do to her?"

"I don't know, I don't know. She looks like she's been tortured, Sher." He could no longer hold back, and laid his head on the top of the pay phone and let the tears drop. "There's not a spot on her body that I could see that wasn't bruised or lacerated. Sher…her shirt was open and shorts undone when we found her."

"Are you saying she was raped?"

"We don't know yet, we just don't know."

"And Roselli?"

"He got away. We had to get her to a hospital."

"What do you need me to do, Murph?"

"Bernice and Mildred need to know. I know I should be the one to tell them, but I can't, I just can't."

"I'll handle it, and then I'll be on the next flight to you."

Murphy nodded on the other side of the phone, relieved.

"Sher, there's two more things. First, Steele doesn't want them coming down here. He doesn't think Laura would want them to see her like this. Second, Jarvis needs to be told she's been found, but don't tell him anything about her condition. She wouldn't want it being leaked to the press."

"I understand. How is Remington holding up?"

"He's terrified. Won't leave her side."

"Tell him if there is anything I can do…"

"I will. Thank you, Sher for doing this. I love you."

"I love you, too. I'll see you in a few hours."

Sherry hung up the phone. Then rubbing her hands up and down her legs a few times, stood to go talk to the Mildred and Bernice in the Remington's office.

* * *

When Sherry walked into Remington's office, two faces stared at her, waiting.

"She's alive," Sherry told them immediately, wanting to dispel their worst fears first. They let out a collective sigh of relief.

"When will they be home?" Mildred asked eagerly.

"Mildred," Sherry said quietly, "There's more."

Mildred's face crumpled, knowing the news would be bad.

Bernice broke the silence. "How much more?" she asked, the fear that was creeping up on her leaking into her voice.

"She's been hurt, badly. She's in the hospital right now being assessed. She also has a massive infection that they're trying to determine the origin of."

"How badly?" Bernice pushed, needing to know.

"Dehydration, borderline malnutrition, fractures, bruises, lacerations, a couple of concussions, and she's been drugged repeatedly. The doctors are still working on her."

"Oh my God," Bernice's voice cracked, then putting her hand over her mouth, started to cry.

Mildred jumped up, "When's the next flight down there?"

"They don't want anyone there. She wouldn't want to be seen like this. I think it's important we honor that wish right now. Remington's going through more than anyone should have to, and if this is what they need, then we need to give them their privacy right now."

"What can I do?" Mildred asking, feeling helpless as her 'kids' were going through hell in Mexico once again.

"Keep the office going for them. The last thing they need to do is worry about business right now. I'm going to take a flight out to Mexico this afternoon."

"You just said the Boss doesn't want anyone there right now."

"My husband needs me. I won't be going to the hospital, but I will be going to the hotel so I can be there for him."

Mildred nodded, clearly heartbroken.

"Mildred, Remington's likely going to reach out to you at some point. He's going to need you to be strong."

Mildred nodded her head briskly, understanding, then dropped her head into her hands and began to cry.

* * *

"Two concussions, two fractured eye orbitals, a fractured cheekbone, three ribs with a hairline fractures, a displaced shoulder that has been reset, a torn Achilles tendon, along with multiple lacerations and contusions. The more pressing matter is a combination of the dehydration coupled with the sepsis. We're pushing fluids, and we have a triple antibiotic cocktail on board to fight both infections. She is showing signs of acute respiratory distress syndrome, or ARDS, so we're giving her oxygen. The ARDS, should it develop, will be our biggest battle, as if it advances, it has a one in three mortality rate…"

Remington was sitting next to the bed at Laura's side where he had been for hours, holding her hand, waiting. He'd left her side only while she was in nuclear medicine having the MRI done, and then only to call Donald to let him known she'd been found. He'd declined to provide all the details of the injury, not wishing to panic her family. At the doctor's mention of ARDS, he moved her hand to his mouth, kissing it, before grasping it again between both of his hands. He was desolate at hearing there was a one in three chance he could lose her.

Remington's thoughts flashed back to a little more than a year ago, when he and Monroe had spoken of the risks they'd taken in their prior lives.

* * *

" _ **I knew then we were lucky. I mean really lucky," Remington had told Monroe that night. "Dealt a few more aces than most people. But it's a mixed blessing, because sometimes those we want to hold closest to us don't always have the same hand. And there's nothing we can do about it."**_

* * *

And now, here he and Laura were. _God help us,_ he thought.

"…Her fever has come down, slightly and is sitting at 103 right now," the doctor continued. "We'll continue to monitor it. The toxicology report shows the presence of ketamine, methylenedioxymethamphetamine, and Lysergic acid diethylamide, with the first of greatest concern as even with its half-life there's more than double the dose for a woman her size in her blood stream. We've administered haloperidol to counteract the effects of that. However, we've no idea of the long range… complications… that may arise for your wife." Remington tore his eyes away from Laura and looked at the doctor.

"Long range complications?" His heart pounded. _As if we've not enough to overcome already._

"All three drugs have a psychogenic component to them. Depending upon what dosages she's been given and how often, she could face psychological disruptions ranging from confusion to memory loss surrounding the events, as well as the more pressing concern of flashbacks. Your wife's mind is injured as bad as, if not worse than, her body at the moment."

When the doctor had finished detailing her litany of injuries and the battles they still faced, Remington pulled one of his hands from hers, reaching out to run his fingers across her brow then to touch her hair.

"We still need to do the sexual assault exam, Mr. Steele," the doctor began cautiously. When it had been brought up hours ago in the ER, Remington had exploded.

"No," he answered, his voice steel-like in its finality.

"Mr. Steele, based on the bruising on her thighs, it his highly likely that she was assaulted. A rape kit will provide the authorities with the evidence-"

"No," he roared at the doctor, then swiping his hands through his hair, stood up and walked across the room, before turning back around. "Over the course of the last six hours, my wife has been poked and prodded by innumerable personnel. She has had X-Rays, an MRI, and CT scan. She has had her blood taken, IV's inserted into her, and multiple shots, both antibiotics and for pain management. She has had wounds poked, prodded, picked apart and dressed. _It's enough._ She has been through hell the last four days, and I'll not put her through an invasive exam without her input or consent. _Do I make myself clear_?"

"I don't think you have carefully considered the legal ramifications of not-"

"I don't give a bloody damn about the 'legal ramifications.' The man kidnapped my wife, took her to another country, and inflicted how many injuries upon her? A charge for…for… sexual assault, if it occurred, will make little difference to a sentence, while knowing there is something out there that can confirm her…" he sucked in a hard breath "… oh God… rape… would be devastating to her. It'll not happen!"

"If she was assaulted, she'll need counseling…" the doctor tried again before Remington once more cut him off.

" _If_ my wife was raped, she and I will do what we have always done: deal with it together. There's nothing further to discuss," Remington said in a tone that brooked no further discussion of the topic, as he walked back across the room to sit on the chair next to Laura's bed and reclaim her hand.

The doctor nodded his head, though his brows remained furrowed with disapproval.

"How long until we know if the antibiotics are working? If this… infection… is backing off?"

"The next twelve hours will tell the tale. We'll be monitoring her condition carefully." The doctor turned to leave the room, but paused when he reached for the door handle. He turned back around to address Remington.

"Mr. Steele?"

Remington looked up, remaining quiet.

"Are you certain that your wife was standing up, as you described, when you found her?"

"Yes, absolutely. Why?"

"I don't know many people that could have survived what her body has been put through these last few days. How she was standing at all given all her injuries is a miracle. She's a fighter, Mr. Steele. Trust in that."

Remington nodded, then turned to watch his wife, talking to her, recounting to her parts of their tumultuous romance.

"That night, oh, three weeks or so after we first met, as we posed as a couple strolling the docks. Ahhh, love, you've no idea how that kiss, brief as it was, affected me. I'd forgone my pursuit of the Lavulite in hopes of what we might find between us. Three weeks and all I'd received was the set down. Then that night, brief as it was, I knew I'd not been wrong in my decision to return. I had to know you, all of you." As he recounted the memory, he recalled the tremor that had raced through his body, how his blood had lit with fire, his heart had clenched in his chest. He'd known countless women over the years, yet had never experienced anything like it before.

"Ahhhh, Laura, that kiss in the wine cellar at St. Costello's," he reminisced, losing himself in the memory, almost able to feel her lips under his, "I cannot tell you how many times across the years that I've thought about it, most especially when you would push me away or would deny us what we both so desperately wanted. It was the first time you ever initiated something that told me the passion, the need between us was not simply one sided. With that kiss, you, left me fully gobsmacked that day."

"Do you remember the day we spend in the McCallum Park? My, you were a sight, so carefree, flushed from all your running about, your eyes sparkling from sheer joy. Have I ever thanked you for that day? Told you how it touched me that you chose to play hooky from the office, so we could enjoy what was continuing to blossom between us, eh?"

He journeyed through their days together, sometimes laughing, sometimes having to quell the ache in his heart at the memories. When he reached those days in London, he had to stop and catch the breath stolen from him by his aching heart.

"I doubt you'll ever be able to truly understand what it meant to me, love, that you'd come for me. Not your mythical Remington Steele, but me." He stopped, unable to continue past the lump in his throat.

What he felt for her only a year ago, was nothing compared to what she was to him now. To finally know what it felt like to be a part of her, to finally know how it felt to be freely loved by her without reservation, to know what it was like to fall asleep with her wrapped in his arms, and to know this incredible life they were building to together… the idea of losing her? She was all he could ever remember wanting and now he had no idea how he'd go on without her.

Grasping her hand tighter in his own, he lay his other hand on her stomach so that he was able to feel the rise and fall of her breathing. Lying his forehead down on the mattress next to her side, he gave into the fear he'd been trying valiantly to hold at bay, and allowed the tears to slide down his face.

* * *

Hearing the door knob to the suite turning, Sherry got off the couch and walked towards it. When Murphy entered they walked to one another and gathered each other close. He laid his head down on her shoulder, briefly, thoroughly exhausted by the events of days past. Pulling herself out of his arms, she took his hand and led them both to the sofa, where they sat, her curled up to his side.

"Talk to me, Murph."

"She's in bad shape, Sher, really bad." Murphy ticked off all her injuries, then added "And now she is showing symptoms of something called ARDS, acute respiratory distress syndrome, that that is being caused by the sepsis."

Sherry stiffened at the mention of ARDS. As a trained psychologist working in a large city hospital, she was well aware of what it was and the possible ramifications, ranging from permanent lung damage to death.

"Sher, I don't think I'll ever forget what she looked like today, what he did to her. She's always been strong, stronger than any of us. Today, she was just…broken." She stroked his head, giving him what comfort she could.

"How is Remington doing?" Murphy shook his head.

"He refuses to leave her side, as though if he does, she'll disappear again." She nodded, then stood up, holding her hand out to him.

"Let's get some sleep. You look like you haven't had any in days. In the morning, we'll get up, grab something to eat and then you can take Remington a change of clothes and try to get him to take a break for a little bit."

Murphy rose, taking her hand and walking with her to the bedroom.

"He won't leave her, I can almost guarantee you that, but I'll try."


	25. Chapter 25: Going Home

Wednesday, October 22, 1986

Remington jerked awake, prying open bleary eyes to look around the room for what had awakened him. Finding nothing in the shadows of the darkened room, he stood and placed his hand against Laura's brow. Finding it at last cool and clammy, he let out a staccato breath as he slumped back down into his chair in utter relief. Lifting her hand, he pressed several brief kisses against her palm, before wrapping her hand in his own and laying his head back down on the side of the bed once more. The haze of early sleep had just settled over him when he bolted back upright at the strange sound coming from above him.

He stared at Laura for many long seconds, before she again whimpered while moving her head from side-to-side. Releasing her hand, he stood then sat on the bed next to her hip and ran his fingers through her hair, soothingly. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips next to her ear. "It's over, babe… You're safe… I'm here," he whispered the assurance next to her ear.

Somewhere in her dreams, it registered that someone was near. Lurching upright, and sucking in a harsh breath against the pain that ricocheted through her body, eyes unseeing, she began to scream. "No! No! Stay away from me!" Her scream died on a sob, as Remington moved quickly in front of her, grasping her cheeks in his hands.

"Laura… love… It's me… It's me… Oh God." His hands moved over her cheeks, as his heart pounded in his chest, his imagination alit by what she'd been subjected to that would leave her waking in terror. Laura. His rock. The strongest person he'd ever known. "Look at me, Laura… Look at me…" he pleaded.

The memory of that morning flooded through her, when she'd believed it was Remington holding her as she slept. Shaking her head violently, she tried to skitter away from him backwards on the bed. "Not real," she insisted more to herself than him. Fully awake now, her eyes darted around the room, seeking a route of escape. Instead of allowing her to flee, he pursued, moving up the bed with her, reaching for her face again. She slapped his hands away. "You're not real. No! No!"

Heart racing and panic setting in, he searched his mind desperately, for a way to reach her. He thanked the stars above when it came to him. Picking up her hand, he pressed his lips against her palm. **"** Tá mo chroí istigh ionat, mo ghrá."

She stilled before him, panting, assessing whether or not this was another hallucination, then reached out a tentative hand to touch his face, only to jerk it away, then shakily touch him again. "Mr. Steele?" she asked in barely a whisper.

"Indeed, Mrs. Steele," he confirmed, trying to insert an air of amusement into his voice. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders, almost painfully, before skimming down his arms again, then back up, so that her fingers could lose themselves in his hair. She let out a shuddering sigh, before Roselli's words clicked through her mind and she moved her hands to clasp his face, searching it for any signs of injury. Noting the blackened eyes that were turning shades of yellow and purple, the bruised cheekbone, and healing split lip, her hands began to shake violently.

"You're okay… he said… he said…" she choked on a sob that she forced back down with an iron will. She grabbed at his shoulders again, trying to pull him to her, then gasped at the pain ripping through shoulder and ribs.

"Easy, love," he cajoled, before carefully stretching out on the bed next to her and helping her ease down to lay against his shoulder. She felt his body tremble under hers at the contact. He handled her gingerly, carefully avoiding wrapping his arm around her injured ribs, while pressing his lips against the top of her head.

"Care to give me a synopsis?" He rubbed at his mouth with his hand before nodding.

"Three cracked ribs, displaced shoulder, two rather serious concussions, both eye orbitals and cheekbone fractured, sepsis and far too many cuts and bruises to count."

"And my ankle?" He let out a puff of air.

"The Achilles is severed, love." She nodded against his shoulder.

"I thought as much," she answered matter-of-fact. "Prognosis?"

"Three to four weeks for the shoulder and assorted fractures. Surgery to repair the tendon." He touched his fingers to her cheek. "Four to six months recovery on that." She nodded again.

"No marathon, then." He frowned at what appeared to be her easy acceptance of that detail. She'd been working for months, barely containing her anticipation of conquering the LA Marathon. "Remington?"

"Yes, love?"

"How? How did you find me?" He nuzzled his cheek against her head.

"The same way you found me the first time DesCoines appeared, with a little help from yourself, of course." She frowned, confused.

"My help?" She felt him nod.

"Mmmmm. The clues you left. I'd figured out Las Hadas, was already in Manzanillo before your first message was given to Mildred and Bernice, but the information you provided on the car, the cabin? Had we not had that, I've no idea how we would have found you."

"You got them," she breathed.

"We did." She frowned again.

"You keep saying we. Is Mildred here with you?" Remington chuckled lightly.

"Murphy." Laura carefully eased herself up on an elbow to look at him.

" _Murphy?_ " she asked, stunned.

"Mmmmm," he hummed his confirmation, running his fingers through her hair as she eased herself back down and yawned deeply.

"And the two of you didn't come to blows?" He chuckled again.

"Sorry to disappoint. Perhaps another time," he teased. She laughed lightly as she stroked her hand up over his ribs and over his chest, before settling over his heart.

"And Roselli?" He felt her tense against him as she asked the question. Slowly, he blew out a frustrated breath.

"Absconded while we got you to the hospital." She nodded and yawned again. Pressing his lips against her head again, he continued to finger her hair. "Get some sleep, love."

"Will you stay?"

"You ask as though I'd be anywhere else," he answered, as he swept her hair back over her shoulder.

Concentrating on the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her fingers, his breath against her forehead and the steady, light stroking of his fingers in her hair, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Remington readjusted the pillow under his head, then soothed a hand over Laura's back to settle her back in. Once he was certain she slumbered peacefully, he fingered the remote control through the small selection of channels available finally selecting a documentary on the Mayan civilization. Laying an arm over his eyes, he tried to doze. It had been a difficult night. Laura had slept restlessly, crying out in her sleep several times throughout the night, calming only when his soft words of Gaelic and gentle touch soothed her in her dreams. He was thankful for the nap he'd gotten while waiting her to regain consciousness, or he figured he'd be next to useless today after little to no sleep during the three nights she'd been missing.

He flashed the nurse a quick grin, then recovered his eyes as she changed out the IV bags. The night nurse had been less than friendly, giving him a sour look of disapproval when she found him in bed with Laura. He'd simply raised his brows, daring her to suggest he be anywhere other than where he lay. With a shake of her head, she'd left the room without a word.

Now, he looked up in surprise when Murphy pushed open the door to the room, carrying Remington's backpack and a small, unfamiliar overnight bag. With an upheld finger to his lips and a flick of his eyes to his sleeping wife, Remington indicated Murphy should keep his voice down. Murphy nodded his acknowledgment.

"How is she this morning?" Murphy asked in a near whisper.

"She's fine," the answer coming not from Remington, but Laura herself. Opening her eyes, she moved her head gingerly to the side, not leaving Remington's arms, so she could see the other man. "Heyyyyy, Murph," she greeted him with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

Murphy looked down at the suitcase he was holding then held it up in display. "Sherry had me bring it over. She made me promise that I'd get your husband to take a break this morning, at least long enough to shower."

"I appreciate it, but I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere."

Laura made exaggerated sniffing sounds from where her head still lay on his chest. "I don't know about that," she teased, then laughed as he looked down at her, pretending to be offended. "Go. Take a shower, shave. It will give me a chance to catch up with Murphy."

Remington sighed, then carefully unfolded his body out from under her, knowing he'd be fighting a losing battle. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head, telling her, "I'll be right back, Mrs. Steele."

Laura touched his cheek with the palm of her hand and smiled at him. "I have absolutely no doubt that you will be, Mr. Steele." He flashed her a toothy grin at her subtle reminder that the days when she fear she'd wake one day and find him gone were long behind them. Grabbing the overnight bag off the floor next to Murphy's chair, he left them to visit.

Laura carefully repositioned herself on the bed, gasping as the ribs gave a painful tug on her side, then settled into a reclining position.

"I can't believe you're here, Murphy," she told him, as he settled in the chair next to her bed. "Thanks for helping him."

"I really didn't help that much. He's good Laura, really good. He caught things that I would have missed."

"I know he is," she agreed proudly. "We make a hell of a team."

Murphy nodded, thoughtfully. "I never thought these words would come out of my mouth, Laura, but I was wrong about him. I was so sure he would leave you high and dry, picking up pieces of your heart and life from all around you…"

"But, baby, look at us now," she winked at him, then laughed and Murphy joined in.

"How's Sherry, Murph?"

"Worried about you. She's back at the hotel right now. Made me promise to call her the minute I got here with an update."

As if on cue, a nurse appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Michaels? Your wife is on the phone. She said she needs to speak with you right away."

Murphy looked at the nurse, then back at Laura. She laughed, "Go ahead, I'll be fine."

He nodded then walked out the door.

Laura leaned her head back and closed her eyes. _I can't believe I'm still so tired_ , she thought to herself. Hearing the door to her room open and close then latch, she smiled, and eyes still closed asked "Back so soon?"

"I told you I wasn't going to let him have you, Laura."

Her eyes flew open. Seeing Roselli, she began shaking and scrambled backwards on the bed, moaning at her screaming ribs. This couldn't be real. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope that when she opened them again, he wouldn't be there. Still, given the patch over his eye and the bandage taped to his face, she closed her eyes and shook her head, praying it was the residual drugs in her system playing tricks on her. _He can't be here_ , she told herself. But he was.

"Stay away from me, Tony" Laura told him, pulling her legs up under her on the bed, ready to bolt.

"You and I have something to finish, Laura. It's time to go." Roselli darted over to the bed and snatched her wrist, attempting to pull her out of the bed.

She jerked back, trying unsuccessfully to free herself, then tried again, planting her feet on the bed and using her weight attempting to pry her arm from his grasp, even as her ankle screamed at her from the pressure on it. He lost his grip and she tumbled over backwards off the bed, hitting her head on the concrete floor as she landed. The IV stand, lifted off the floor, then fell, the needle ripping from her arm. She groaned, reaching up to grab her head as the room began to spin.

Roselli came around the bed. Reaching down he grabbed her by the arm, yanking her up, before locking his arm around her ribs, caging her to his body, causing her to cry out as the arm crushed into her fractured ribs. She sagged against him, the assault on her body too much. He pulled her with him towards the low-slung window, and after unlatching it, opened it. Looking down at the two story drop, he decided they would have to risk it as it was the only escape.

Laura, seeing the plan in his eyes, dug deep to find the energy then let out a blood curdling scream, "Remington!"

* * *

Fresh out of the shower, Remington had pulled on his pants and was standing barefoot and shirtless in front of the mirror shaving when Laura's scream ripped through the halls. Throwing the razor down, he yanked open the bathroom door and bolted down the four doors to her room, meeting up with Murphy coming from the opposite direction. Finding the door locked, they threw themselves, together, against the door, splintering wood.

Hearing the door give, Laura grabbed the needle hanging from her arm, and plunged it into Roselli's arm, then shoved him as he howled. Roselli lost his footing, falling backwards through the window, grabbing her arm and taking her with him. She grabbed for something, anything, the fingers of her hand catching the window sill in the nick of time.

"Laura!" Remington yelled, hurtling himself across the room. He lunged at her, grabbing her wrist just as her fingers let go. "Hold on Laura, hold on. I've got you!" Leaning through the window, he grabbed her other arm, then hooked them around his neck telling her, "Please, baby, hold tight. Oh God, hold onto me," as he grabbed her around the waist and fell back into the room with her in his arms. Once they had cleared the window, Murphy ran to it. Looking down, he watched as Roselli picked himself up off the ground and ran away.

"He's gone again, Steele!"

"I don't give a damn," Remington got to his feet with Laura in his arms. Blood streamed from her arm where the needle had ripped her vein, and her eyes were unfocused after having taken another blow to the head. "Get the doctor, Murphy. She's been hurt again."

Murphy shoved his way through the curious crowd that had gathered at the door, closing the door in their faces, then ran down to the nurse's station.

Remington carried Laura across the room and lay her down on the bed. Ripping the case off of the pillow, he took her arm in his hand and began applying pressure to the wound, trying to stave off the bleeding.

"I'm fine," she told him groggily, trying weakly to pull back her arm. He held fast.

"I know you are, Miss Holt. How 'bout you humor me, eh? After all, you've tended my wounds far more than I yours over the years."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele," she mumbled.

"Whatever for?"

The doctor and Murphy entered the room, ending the conversation. After a thorough exam and four stitches in her arm, the doctor departed. A nurse entered shortly thereafter and replaced the IV line, pushing it through the vein in her left hand this time, to avoid the injured vein. After the staff had departed, Remington climbed back up on the bed and stretched out as he had the night before. She turned into his arms, and once settled began running her hands back and forth over his ribs for several minutes, finding the familiarity of him under her hands comforting, before her hand stilled and she fell asleep.

Murphy was seated in a chair across the room. Glancing up, he saw Laura had fallen asleep. Taking his head out of his hands, he looked at Remington with tortured eyes. "I'm sorry. This was my fault. You left her with me."

"I didn't leave you to stand guard over her, Murphy. Neither of us had any way of knowing that Roselli would dare show up here. Stop blaming yourself. Go back to the hotel, see Sherry, and get some rest." Murphy nodded and stood to leave. "If you would, let the guard out there know no one is to bother us for the next few hours. Laura needs to sleep. Oh, and Murphy, if you or Sherry could find some place to deliver, can you have something sent over here for dinner?"

Murphy nodded again and then left the room.

Remington carefully gathered Laura a little closer, his hand continuing to toy with her hair, as he spent the next several hours plotting his revenge against Anthony Roselli in any number of ways.

* * *

Remington was jarred from his sleep by Laura's screams.

"No, no, noooooooooooooo!"

The officer assigned to guard her exploded into the room. Remington, not turning around, waved him away. Taking her head into his hands as he had the night before, he moved in front of her. "Laura, Laura, it's me, love. Open your eyes, Laura. It's a bad dream. You're here with me. You're safe." Her eyes opened and seeing him in front of her, blinked back the moisture in her eyes then lay back down in his arms.

"It's not safe. He's going to keep coming after me, Remington. He won't stop," she panted, trying to shake loose the fear from her nightmare.

He stiffened more at the vulnerability and fear he heard in her voice than at her words themselves and had to force himself to relax so as not to alarm her. _She's right_ , he realized. Roselli wouldn't stop coming at her until he was either locked up or dead. He was so insane that he had gone after Laura in their home and now here in this very hospital. Moving a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up to look at him.

"Let's go home, Mrs. Steele," he suggested to her quietly. Hearing the words, her breathing began to slow down and steady. She moved her hand up his chest to his jaw, then locking her eyes with his own, nodded with relief.

"Let's go home, Mr. Steele."

He leaned down and kissed her nose. "Up you get. I've a phone call to make."

After extracting themselves from each other, Laura settled back against the pillows while Remington yanked a dress shirt out of the suitcase and slung it on, leaving it unbuttoned as he walked to the phone and picked it up.

"Operator, I need to place a call to Los Angeles…" he directed, providing the phone number.

The phone rang twice on the other end before it was answered.

"The Remington Steele Agency. Mildred Krebs speaking. How can I help you?"

"Mildred, it's me."

Mildred stood, then sat, then stood again equally afraid and happy that he had called. "How's Mrs. Steele, Chief? Is she doing any better? Is she doing worse? I don't think I can take much more…"

"Mildred," Remington interrupted, "She's doing much better. She's awake. Listen Mildred, I need your help…"

"Can I talk to her?" Mildred asked cutting him off. "Please? Can I talk to her, Boss? I just want to hear her. I've been so worried…"

Shaking his head, he held out the phone to Laura as Mildred continued to prattle on. "She needs to speak with you." Laura smiled and held out her hand.

"Hello, Mildred."

"Oh, Mrs. Steele. Thank God! I've been, we've all been, so worried about you!"

"I'm fine Mildred. Some bumps and bruises, but otherwise doing much better."

"I swear to you, Mrs. Steele, if I ever get my hands on Roselli, I'll, I'll…"

"I'm familiar with the sentiment. Mr. Steele needs to speak to you again. I miss you, Mildred. Thank you for taking care of everything while we're gone."

She handed the phone back to Remington, smiling. "Mildred, it's me again." As Mildred prepared to go off on a ramble again, he once more interrupted, "Mildred, I need you to focus, _please_."

Mildred stilled on the other end, then giving herself a shake, cleared her throat and answered as her efficient old self. "Shoot."

"I need you to find us a private charter to fly us to Greece. I don't care how much it costs, just make it happen. Transfer the funds from our account." Glancing at Laura, he continued, "We'll also need a private duty nurse. The nurse will fly with us to Greece, then once we are there will be relieved of their duties. We'll provide them a four-day stay in Crete, our treat, then pay their airfare home. Do you have that Mildred?"

"Yes. I'll get right on it. Boss, why aren't you coming home?"

"Roselli came after Laura at the hospital here today," hearing Mildred gasp, he continued, "He won't get near her on Island Santorini. The family will see to that."

"I understand. Oh, Boss, I can't believe this."

"Neither can I Mildred, neither can I. One more thing, Mildred."

"Lay it on me, Boss."

"Call Marcos and let him know when we'll be arriving. Ask that he have us picked up, discretely, and that a couple of the cousins coming along for a ride wouldn't be a bad thing. Don't tell him what's transpired. I'll fill him in when we get there. I owe him that."

"Will do. I'll call you as soon as I have it all set up."

"Thank you, Mildred. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Take care of Mrs. Steele, Boss. And yourself too."

"Will do. See you soon."

As Remington hung up the phone there was a knock on the door. Laura's guard peeked his head in and announced "Your food has arrived, Mr. Steele." He walked over to the door, thanking the man, then took the bag over to the bed where she was carefully maneuvering herself into a sitting position. Swinging a leg up on the bed he positioned himself to where he was sitting cross-legged across from her before setting the containers of food down on the bed between them.

"Hungry?" She grinned at him.

"Ravenous."

Pulling the containers out of the bag, he opened them one at a time: Tacos, burritos, enchiladas, and rice and beans. She stabbed a fork into the enchilada and shoved a heaping spoonful into her mouth, groaning with pleasure. He laughed, always amazed by how much food she could shove in her mouth at a time.

"What?" she asked around a mouthful of food.

"Nothing," he grinned as the phone next to the bed started to ring. Reaching past her, he grabbed the receiver from the cradle. "Steele here".

"Okay, Boss," Mildred replied without preamble, "The plane will be fueled and ready to leave at 7:30. The nurse, Emma Hargrove, will meet you at the plane. The flight will take a little over fourteen hours landing you in Greece around 10 am our time, or 8pm Greece time. Marcos will have a car waiting for you at the airport, which will take you to the ferry, then continue on to his house."

"Great work, Mildred, we can always count on you. We'll see you soon, hopefully."

Remington glanced at his watch, 5:45. Walking over to the bed he grabbed the call button and pushed it. Laughing at Laura again he told her, "Eat fast. We have to leave for the airport in thirty minutes."

The nurse entered the room and Remington filled her in on their plans, including that a nurse would be traveling with them to Greece. Thirty minutes later, after a brisk but effective argument with her doctor about the need for her to stay and heal versus the merit of her physical and emotional health should Roselli make another attempt on her, they left the hospital, heavy one carton of medical supplies. Murphy met them at the airport with their luggage and after a round of goodbyes, the Steele's left Mexico, and Roselli, behind.


	26. Chapter 26: Concession

They had been in the air for about an hour and a half. Remington had watched the tension slowly leave Laura's body over that time, leaving her more relaxed, less afraid than he had seen her in the last thirty six hours. The private jet was luxuriously appointed with a full kitchen, living room, bath and bedroom. Mildred had more than outdone herself, once again. Sitting next to him, Laura stretched, then winced as her ribs reminded her they were fractured.

"I would kill for a long soak," she said aloud. He raised his brows in her direction.

"What's stopping you?"

"Lack of a tub, for starters," she laughed. He scratched at the side of his nose as a corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"I seem to recall seeing a Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom." She pushed herself up slowly and turned to look at him.

"You wouldn't kid a girl, would you, Mr. Steele?" His smile widened as he noted her brown eyes sparkled with unconcealed glee.

"I would. But in this instance I happen to be quite serious." Standing, he leaned down and bussed the top of her head. "Give me a minute."

She settled back into the couch, closing her eyes, wondering if she might entice her husband into enjoying a bath with her. The idea of being surrounded by hot water and him held remarkable appeal. A little bit of normalcy in the midst of chaos. _Hold onto it while you can._ She frowned, troubled by the thought. Forcing her mind away from that direction, she opened her eyes and considered the IV in her hand.

"Nurse Hargrove? Is there anything you can do about this IV while I take a bath?" Laura called to her. The older woman popped her head into the private living area.

"I could cap it off, if you'd like," she offered. Laura's face lit up.

"I'd appreciate it." Her attention was caught by Remington emerging from the bathroom. When she looked back at her hand, she was no longer connected to the IV.

"Call me when you're out of the bath so we can set the IV again," Hargrove instructed.

"I will," she promised, then lost herself in her husband's blue eyes when he leaned down over her.

"Your bath awaits, madam," he told her teasingly, affecting his most snobbish of British tones, then lifted her up into his arms.

"Ruggles, is it?" she laughed.

"I am but your humble servant, madam," he answered with a waggle of his brows.

"Oh, ho, that'll be the day when you do my bidding without question or argument," she laughed again. He bussed her on the cheek before setting her down on her feet.

"All part of my charm," he pointed out with a toothy smile.

"I don't know about that," she retorted drolly, "but it certainly keeps me on my toes." She watched as he unbuttoned her blouse then removed her sling before slipping the blouse over her shoulders, doing her best to muffle her growl of frustration at her inability to complete even this, the simplest of tasks. His eyes flicked to her face before she could completely put up a mask.

"It's not a sign of weakness to need help, Laura. Besides, I happen to take immense pleasure in helping my lovely wife disrobe," he told her with another wag of her brows. She laughed lightly and shook her head.

"You know me too well."

"That I do." He carefully schooled his face as he slipped her pants and underwear off, his eyes taking in the large bruise on her left thigh and the fingerprint sized bruises on the right. He swallowed hard, before lifting her and carefully setting her down in the steamy water.

"Warm enough?" he queried.

"It's perfect. There's only one thing that's missing," she told him, looking up at him through her lashes.

"Oh, and what might that be?"

"You."

"Ah, I see. I suppose that can be remedied fairly easily with an invitation."

"Consider yourself invited, then, Mr. Steele."

"That I can do, Mrs. Steele," he said, flashing her a grin, already shrugging off his oxford.

She sighed contentedly when he settled in carefully behind her then eased her back to rest against his chest. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his chest hair tickling her back and shoulders. When a hand skimmed around her waist, she lifted it and pressed her lips against his palms. She felt the tremor that passed through his body at her action. She turned slightly in his arms and leaned her head back against his shoulder to look at him. Lifting a hand, she threaded her fingers through his hair.

Remington closed his eyes, losing himself in her touch. Had it only been yesterday morning that he'd lived in fear of never feeling her touch again? He leaned his head into her fingertips, silently asking for more. Instead, her fingers moved to the back of his neck, pressing against it.

"Rem," she whispered. Opening his eyes, his breath hitched at the quiet yearning he saw in her amber eyes. Slowly, he bent down and touched his lips to hers. At her trembling sigh against his lips, he opened his eyes to look at her. Her hand pressed against his neck urging him back down again.

"Laura," he murmured, before settling his lips over hers.

The kiss was agonizingly tender as he slowly touched, tasted each part of her lips. Only when the tip of her tongue brushed against his lower lip and she opened to him, did he plunder, exploring her mouth, her tongue at his leisure. His entire body was set aflame when she moaned softly into his mouth and her fingers buried themselves in the hair on his chest. He ended the kiss and nudged her back around to rest against his chest. His hands held her hips as she tried to turn back around. She huffed in frustration, drawing a laugh from him.

"You're not in any condition for what you're setting in motion, love. Not to mention you're not only not protected but there's nary a condom on board this plane." To take the edge off his words, he bussed the side of her neck. "But I'm sure there are any number of ways I can think of to give you pleasure." Holding up her shampoo bottle in front of her, he opened it and poured some in his hand. She hummed when his graceful fingers massaged her scalp.

"That feels wonderful," she all but purred. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.

"That's the intent," he told her lightly.

Thirty minutes later, shampooed, conditioned, bathed and soaked to the point of pruning, Remington helped Laura from the tub before rewrapping her ribs and ankle, then assisting her into his pajama shirt. Quickly toweling himself off, he pulled on his pajama pants, then lifted her back up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom and setting her down onto the bed. Returning to the bathroom, he retrieved her brush then settled behind her waiting patiently as Nurse Hargrove hooked her back up to the IV. Once left alone, he carefully stroked the brush through her hair.

"I'm sure I can manage to brush my own hair, Mr. Steele," she said, her voice unintentionally sharp.

"By all means, Miss Holt," he told her, handing her the brush, then leaning back against the headboard to watch. The brush didn't make it half-way to her hair before she gave a little yelp, then groaned dropping her arm. "Ribs or shoulder?" he asked, amused.

"Both," she admitted grudgingly. Reaching around her, he plucked the brush back out of her hand and commenced to work the tangles out of her hair.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly.

"Did you say something?" he asked, his lips twitching.

 _Damn and double damn_ , she thought to herself. It was hard enough to utter the words the first time, but twice because she hadn't been heard? She took a deep breath and said the words louder this time. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?" This time he couldn't keep his laughter from his voice.

"I… Mr. Steele!" She growled on principle.

"What precisely are you apologizing for, Mrs. Steele?"

"I shouldn't have snapped at you. It wasn't… fair. I'm tired and grouchy and…" she let out her breath in frustration.

"You despise feeling anything less than capable of taking care of yourself." Setting the brush on the bed, he nudged her to turn around. "Laura, I know you hate having to lean on anyone, even when you should." Now it was he that shook his head and let out a puff of air in vexation. "Why is it that is alright for me to lean on you when I need to but not the other way around, eh?" Her eyes flickered to his then away.

"I don't know what you mean," she prevaricated.

"Alright, if that's the way you wish to play this. DesCoines, Cranston, Keyes, the INS. Did I not lean on you, rely on you to help me through in each of those instances?" He stood and began to pace, while Laura watched him warily. "How many times have you demanded that I allow you to patch me up? How many times have you played nursemaid to me when I've been injured and confined to bed or wheelchair? At least twice comes to mind." He waved his hand at the air. "For that matter, what of our vows? In sickness and in health, eh? Seems to me this partnership, this marriage has an awfully lopsided lean to it when it comes to the former. I've spent years pretending that each injury you've sustained are of little concern to me, for your benefit, not my own. And it's been bloody hard, I don't mind telling you that." He ran his hand through his hair, before returning to sit next to her and pick up her hand. "Have you even considered that when you allow me to care for you… not coddle, but care… that it's not a burden but an honor?" He reached up with his free hand to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek, his voice softening. "How it feels to a man that his partner… his wife… needs him, for at least that small measurement of time, as much as he needs her and that she trusts him enough to know that he knows precisely how strong she truly is? Eh?"

Bussing her on the forehead, he stood and turned down the sheet and comforter on the bed, then slid in and waited for her to join him. Only once she was settled into his side did he reach over and turn out the light. Silence reigned in the room for several long minutes as Laura absently drew pretty patterns against his chest with a single finger.

"I do need you, Remington," she said quietly, finally breaking the silence. "So much so that it scares me at times."

"If the roles were reversed, would you do any less for me?"

"I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be carrying you everywhere," she quipped. He chuckled lightly. She grew quiet again, then serious. "No, I wouldn't do any less for you." Nodding his head, knowing that was all the concession he would get from her right here and now, he pressed his lips against the top of her head.

They let the silence envelop them as he eased her into sleep with his touch.

(TBC)


	27. Chapter 27: Flashbacks

_**A/N: I find myself in an outstanding mood as I have just wrapped up all my Christmas shopping. So, in the spirit of the upcoming holidays, my gift to the dedicated readers of this series: Three additional chapters on the week. Enjoy! ~ RS**_

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Thursday, October 23, 1986

It was the second rough night in as many nights since Laura had been freed from Roselli's clutches. Three times on the evening, Remington had been awakened by her mumblings and the accompanying quaking of her body against his. Each time, he lulled her by speaking quietly in Gaelic to her, while soothing her tension away with his touch.

At some point after the last episode, they'd shifted as they slept. Despite her shoulder and ribs, Laura had rolled over to lay on her left side, and Remington has chased her in his sleep, as he was prone to doing, spooning his body around hers. Reassured by her steady breathing and their hands tangled together, he was confident that they'd made it through the worst of the night and finally allowed himself to slip deep into sleep.

Near what would be dawn in Los Angeles, memories again invaded Laura's sleep. Once more she was back in Roselli's car, cuffed to the car frame and suffering through the torments of the drugs in her system. Her breath hitched and her body began to tremble, her quiet whimpers unheard by her sleeping husband. It was with great determination that her mind forced her from sleep. Eyes fluttering open, she was further disconcerted by the unfamiliar surroundings and the sensation of movement surrounding her. But it was the hand wrapped around her waist that had fear coursing through her blood. In a flash she was back in the cabin with Roselli, battling to keep him from doing the unthinkable. The tentacles of panic that had been in the peripheral since Roselli's appearance tightly took hold.

Frantically, she clawed at the hand holding her, while piercing screams were ripped from deep in her chest.

"No… no, no, no, no, no… Nooooooooooooo."

Remington woke in an instant, lunging into a sitting position. Laura, free from his hand, skittered out of bed and across the room, sinking into a hunching position in the corner of a room as her eyes darted from place-to-place, searching for a weapon with which to protect herself, an escape. He followed her, stooping before her and reaching for her face, all the while talking quietly to her.

"Laura… it's me… you're safe." Her hands slapped at his, trying to keep them at bay, as her screams continued, her eye's growing wider, more wild. "Oh, God, baby." He switched to Gaelic, his desperation to reach her growing exponentially with each terror filled scream. "Mon anam cara… Le do thoil… tá sé dom… Tá tú sábháilte."

Instead of having the soothing effect the lyrical language had in the past, he watched as she grabbed at her abdomen, her breathing become labored leaving her gasping for air within seconds. As she plunged forward to land on all fours, he reached for her again, trying to pull her into his lap. Her reaction caught him off guard as her nails gouged streaks of blood across his shoulder. Into the mayhem stormed Nurse Hargrove, who froze at the sight before her.

"Don't just stand there," Remington shouted at her. "Bloody well do something!" The frantic nature of his bellow had Hargrove turning on her heel and racing back towards the living room where the medical supplies were kept.

When Laura reared back onto her knees trying to draw in a breath, Remington pounced, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms over hers to keep her from attacking him.

"Noooooooooooooo," she screamed, as she continued to gasp. "Don't touch me! Please don't do this! Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," she pled. Anguish painted his face at the words, yet still he battled to find a way to reach her, to convince her it was he, as she struggled against him, arching her back, trying to wrench her body free.

"You wore a red dress the first time we danced. You absolutely dazzled me…."

"Don't do thissssssss…"

"The first time we kissed was on the docks as we posed as lovers. I knew in that instant that my decision to return to LA, to you, was the right one…"

"Please, please, please, please, please…" He barely acknowledged Hargrove as she returned to the room and jabbed the needle she held in hand into Laura's upper arm and depressed the plunger, until it wrenched another terrified scream from his wife.

"Noooooo, no, no, no… no more drugs… no more… no more… Please…" she pled, sobbing and gasping concurrently. Guilt swamped him at her words. He forced himself to continue on.

"I lied to you, you know… while we posed as Peppler's… couldn't let you have the upper hand. I remember everything I said during one drunken night. I enjoyed being a Peppler. I enjoy even more so, being a Steele." When her body gave a deep shudder in his arms, he shifted her in his arms to cradle her. Looking down at her he watched as her eyes rolled even as her breathing began to calm.

Something in her mind clicked back to the present and she realized she was held securely in her husband's arms. She lifted wet, pleading eyes to his. "I didn't want him to… I fought him… I didn't mean for this to happen… I'm sorry… I'm sorry." With a final shudder and a deep exhale, she lost consciousness.

Struggling to his feet with her dead weight in his arms, he made it to the bed. Reclining against the headboard, he kept her cradled against him as his hand absently soothed through her hair. Leaning his head back, his own anguish took over and he let the tears slide freely from his eyes.

She was one of the few people in his life that he'd ever truly given a damn about, the most important of the few that mattered, and he'd been unable to protect her when it mattered most. That he'd failed her, ate at his soul.


	28. Chapter 28: Explanations

Shortly before the plane landed in Greece, Remington had Hargrove administer another dose of Lorazepam to Laura. The decision to do so had not been an easy one given her pleas previously, but even drugged, she had slept fitfully, crying out in her sleep often, her body quaking. He was worried that the taxation on her body would cause the infection to rear its ugly head again and that the trip across the choppy waters to the island then the twist and turns of the ride to the Androkus' home would push her past her limit. It was with no little guilt that he nodded curtly to Hargrove, authorizing another dose.

Remington gathered Laura, still wearing only his shirt, up in his arms and carried her across the tarmac to the waiting car. Once the IV was hooked to the handle above the door in the rear seat, he settled them in for the ride ahead. The two cousins Marcos had sent along to accompany them glanced at each other seeing her condition. No one knew what had brought Xenos back home so soon and the questions only mounted as he had requested an escort for them from the airport. Seeing Laura now, they knew whatever had happened a call would be sent out to the family to rally very shortly.

Laura called out in her sleep several times during the ride from ferry to dock, and groaned as the sharper turns on the way to the house put pressure on her injured ribs. Still she slept on, and would likely do so for several more hours according to the nurse. Remington was relieved when they finally pulled up to the house, where he would be able to give her body a chance to truly rest and even more so within walls where she would feel safe.

The cousins walked through the front door first, one holding her IV bag high, before he followed, carrying her tucked against his chest. Hearing the door open, Elena and Marcos rushed into the living room, ready to greet both with the hugs and kisses which with they were always welcomed. Upon seeing Laura being carried in by Remington, Marcos' pace slowed while Elena doubled hers, rushing to them. Elena came close, then her hand flew to her mouth seeing the young woman's battered and bruised face. Her eyes flew to Remington's angst ridden eyes, then back to Laura, gently touching both of her cheeks with her fingertips.

"Come, Xenos, we will get our Laura settled," Elena directed in that way that brooked no argument.

Wordlessly, Remington followed her down the hall, Mikos trailing behind him with the IV bag. Turning back quilt and sheets, Elena then removed a picture from the wall. Taking the IV bag from Mikos, she hung it from the nail.

"Mikos, you will go get my chair," she ordered. The man unquestioningly left the room to do her bidding. She then turned to Remington, once he had Laura settled on the bed. "Xenos," she instructed as she tucked the covers around her 'daughter-in-law', "you will go now to Marcos and tell him what has happened to our Laura."

Remington looked from Elena to Laura then back to Elena once more and shook his head in refusal. Never once had he blatantly refused an order issued by the older woman, either as child or adult, but he did this time without thought. "I need to be here should she wake." Elena looked up at him sharply from where she was bent over her charge, the back of her hand pressed to Laura's brow.

"You will give to me the respect I am entitled and do as I ask, Xenos. I will stay with our Laura and if she should stir, I will send Mikos to you." She nodded to Mikos when he returned with her rocking chair. Picking up her bag of quilting squares from the seat, she sat down next to the bedside. Still, Remington hesitated. "Xenos, do not make me ask you again." His eyes flickered to the woman, then did as she bade with great reluctance.

He found Marcos stretched out on a chaise on the veranda. The older man sat up and poured two glasses of Ouzo, handing one to Remington as he sat down across from him. Remington took a long pull on the drink, before setting the glass back down.

"Tell me, Xenos," were the only words Marcos said. Remington ran his hand through his hair.

"A man has developed an… obsession… with Laura. He'd followed us from Mexico, to LA, to London then Ireland. We'd thought we were finally rid of him, then, his business with us complete. But while we were in Cannes, before our wedding here, he appeared again. Laura told him in short order to leave us be. When he put his hands upon her…" he swiped at his mouth, "…I threatened him. Again, we'd hoped we'd seen the last of the man." He picked up his glass and took another drink of the Ouzo.

"Go on," Marcos prompted.

"When we returned home, we were greeted by a flat full of wedding presents. Amongst them, an exact replica of the Basano vase—"

"A threat," Marcos inserted. He nodded his agreement.

"Aye. At least that is the way I viewed it. But then, in the months since, all has been quiet. We'd all but forgotten of the man's existence until he showed himself in LA at the beginning of this month. For days, he delivered flowers, photos, to our home, office, on her car. She'd no idea from whom they were coming until he confronted her. Again, when she directed him to leave us be, he put his hands on her." With a swipe of his hand through his hair, he picked up the bottle of Ouzo and refreshed his glass. Standing, he crossed the veranda to look out at the darkened Aegean, watching as boats bobbed on the water.

"This still does not explain what has happened to our Laura, Xenos." Marcos's words broke into his reverie. Turning and leaning his backside against the veranda wall, Remington took a sip of the drink in hand before speaking again.

"This time, we didn't simply let matters go. The man works for the INS. Working with our attorney, we provided his supervisors our statements, pictures of the bruises left upon Laura and a video of his mishandling her in Cannes. Given a history of a similar behavior, the INS determined a transfer to Germany was in order. An old mate and I set a trap for the man, lured him to us. After delivering a message of my own, he was arrested and charged for his transgressions against Laura. We agreed only to drop the charges once he was on the plane on his way out of the country. We'd believed, again, we'd seen the last of the man."

He began to pace as Marcos quietly considered him. After some minutes had passed, Marcos stood and walked to the younger man. Clasping his hand on Remington's shoulder, he led him back to the chaises and waited for him to settle before taking his own seat again. Reaching for Remington's hands he gripped them in his own.

"The past, Xenos, has only as much power as we give it. It is through words that we are able to let go of the harm done, that renders the past powerless. Say the words, my son." Remington pulled his hands from Marcos's and ran them through his hair. Propping his elbows on his knees, he rested a chin in his hand and looked away from the older man.

"On Saturday morning he abducted Laura from our flat. Had her until Tuesday." His fingers pressed against his lips before he continued on. "She's not spoken a word of what happened while she was with him. I know only what the examination at the hospital said, what we found and the little bit she says during her nightmares."

"And what do each of those tell you happened?" Marcos prodded.

"In the car we found handcuffs, still attached to the car frame. I could see the blood on them from where she'd tried to free herself." He took in a deep, shaky breath. "He'd drugged her throughout the time, whilst depriving her of food and water. As for the rest of the injuries, I've no idea how or when she sustained them."

"Which are?"

"Fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder, severed Achilles tendon, two concussions, lacerations, contusions, a serious bout of sepsis." He pressed his fingers against his lips again and cast a despairing look at Marcos. "I refused to allow them to examine her for…" He couldn't make himself say the word.

"Do you believe that he has done this to her?" Remington bounded off the chaise lounge, settling into a frenetic pace.

"I don't know. I don't know, I don't know." He scrubbed hard at the back of his neck. "As I said, she's spoken of nothing. Not a word. She acts as though all is fine when she is awake, but then there's the nightmares in which she screams and begs."

Marcos again waited him out. Only when his pacing slowed, did Marcos speak.

"Come, Xenos. Sit." He waited until the son of his heart returned to his chair before asking the question he'd set aside while Remington spoke. "This man, do you believe he'll come after our Laura again?"

"He already has," Remington answered wearily. "Yesterday in the hospital. It's why we are here. I can keep her safe here."

"We… _we_ can keep her safe here," Marcos corrected. "She is family." Remington reached out and lay a hand on Marco's upper arm, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"And now for our Laura," Marcos began. "You must give her time, Xenos. I learned when last you were here that she is a woman who must mull before she shares. She will come to you when she is prepared to speak the words. You must have faith in that."

"How? How do I help her if I've no idea of the demons she is battling?" He swiped at his mouth in frustration.

"If it is nightmares that plague her, give her dreams with which to replace them. Fear lives in darkness, give her heart light." Marcos patted Remington on the knee. "Now go, go to your Laura. You've given me much to think on." Picking up his glass of ouzo, Remington knocked the remainder of it back, then after setting the glass down, returned to his wife.


	29. Chapter 29: Memories that Comfort

It was just past three in the morning, Greece time, and Remington remained awake. He'd wiled away the last hours reading a book on Greek mythology that Elena had brought to him along with a deck of cards. He nibbled intermittently on the cheese and fruit plate Elena insisted on making for him, clucking all the while about how he had lost weight since his last visit. Surprised, Remington had looked down at himself after she departed and realized she'd not been far off the mark. The days Laura had been missing had taken a toll on him as well. Between too little sleep and a lack of appetite, he'd lost somewhere around ten pounds he speculated. He laughed quietly to himself, acknowledging that Elena would make it her personal mission to fatten he and Laura back up before they returned to LA.

Laura had slept fitfully for the past few hours, often shaking her head and mumbling garbled words that couldn't be understood. He'd stroked her hair and spoke softly too her until she'd calmed. After each round, he worried that the Lorazepam had not brought her a much needed sound sleep, but instead had locked her in her nightmares unable to escape. Guilt assailed him each time the thought crossed his mind and left him questioning his choice to preserve her physical health over perhaps her emotional well-being. Still, as the night deepened, he'd begun to hope that there would be no major episodes that evening.

His hopes were not recognized. Shortly before four in the morning, the whimpering began. Of all of it – the screams, the tears, the unrelenting fear – it was the whimpering he most detested. It spoke of how vulnerable she'd felt at whatever point in time of which she was dreaming. He was prepared when she lunged awake, screaming in terror. She'd barely made it to a sitting position when he'd swept her up into her lap, pressing his cheek against her head, whispering memories of the most important parts of their romance into her ear.

"Oh, how I wish to this day I'd won that little bet of ours at Stanford. I would have loved to show you the sites, to submerge you in the romance of the city. But how can I forget the kisses we shared in the tunnel, then later as part of our draw. Ah, Laura, there is nothing so wonderful as the touch of your lips against mine…"

He started when Marcos and Mikos barreled through the door, both men bearing a handgun and searching the room for whomever was there. The sight of the guns gave Remington pause, but he'd maintained his faculties enough to give Marcos a pointed look and to shake his head. Understanding, Marcos backed Mikos out of the room and then closed the door behind them.

"I do believe I still damn the ghost of Emmet DeVore for interrupting us as he did. The two of us pressed tight in the sleeping bag, you finally giving at last giving in to your desire. I've dreamt of kisses such as that hundreds of nights over, because it was only there that reality and ghosts could not intrude…"

He knew the moment Laura realized where she was and with whom as her body suddenly turned almost liquid and she sunk against him. Scooping Laura and quilt up in his arms, he grabbed the IV bag from off the wall and carried her to the balcony outside of the room. Hooking the IV to a plant hanger there, he settled them onto the lounge, tucking the quilt in around them before engulfing her in his arms. They lay there in quietude, each lost in their own thoughts, as they enjoyed the star spattered, inky dark skies and the gentle breeze that wafted over them. Absently, Laura's hand ran up and down Remington's arm. Eventually, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the comforting feel of her touch.

His deep, steady breathing alerted Laura that he'd fallen asleep. Moving carefully in order not to jostle her ribs or shoulder, or her slumbering husband, she managed to maneuver herself around so that she could curl up against him. Wrapping her good arm around him, she nuzzled her head against his bare chest until she found the steady, familiar beat of his heart. Forlornly, she wondered if the days of moments like these were numbered.

With that troubling thought on her mind, she fell asleep, comforted somewhat by his presence.

(TBC)


	30. Chapter 30: Connection

_**A/N: In celebration of fall, my second most favorite season, an extra long addition to the story this week – normally double what I usually post. Grab a cup of tea – or wine as the case may be – open up your windows wide to enjoy the crisp autumn breeze, curl up in a comfy chair, pull an afghan up on your lap and enjoy. ~RS**_

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 _ **Warning: Adult Content. If you are under eighteen years of age or uncomfortable with such material, please continue to Chapter 31.**_

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Friday, October 24, 1986

Laura woke to Remington's fingers traipsing through her hair. Lifting her head to look at him, she was bewitched by the startling blue eyes staring down at her. After long moments passed, her eyes shifted to his lips as her fingers explored his chest. Never a man able to resist Laura Steele nee Holt when her eyes were silently begging to be kissed, he lowered his lips to hers. Both of their bodies shuddered with need at the contact, as they tried to reconcile the fact that that they were here, lips touching, tasting, when only three short days before they'd each wondered at one point or another if they'd ever be able to do so again. She turned in his arms until she straddled his lap, ignoring the pangs of pain radiating up her leg from the injured ankle. With a touch of her tongue against his lips, he moaned softly as he opened his mouth to her and their tongues danced, tangled, tasted, explored. After losing themselves in one another for minutes, or perhaps it was hours, with a gasp, he ripped his lips away from hers.

"We've got to stop, love," he panted. She flashed a pair of dimples at him and ran the fingers of her good arm through his hair.

"I don't want to," she murmured in a sultry little voice that set his blood on fire. Palming the back of his neck, her lips sought and found his again. With a quiet chuckle, his hands clutched her waist and lifted her, resettling her between his legs so her back pressed against his chest.

"Nevertheless, we must. Need I remind you a second time in as many days that we are quickly heading to a place that we cannot afford to go?" he asked lightly. She tilted her head back, a smirk lifting her lips.

"Is it that? Or that we are yet again in your parent's home, _Xenos_?" He laughed openly this time.

"Ah, yes. I'd quite forgotten for a moment. There is that as well." He nuzzled the top of her head with his cheek then leaned his chin on the top of her head. "Now, on to matters of some import. We need to find you a doctor today to see if we can rid you of that IV bag of yours and perhaps a pair of crutches to help you get around a bit, depending upon how your feet are faring. How do they feel today, love?"

She frowned a bit, realizing that for the first time in days the ever-present sting that she'd learned to live with was absent. Flexing her right foot tentatively, she looked back at him. Taking his hand, she stood carefully, keeping the weight on her right foot. It was slightly uncomfortable but doable. She bit her lower lip, thrilled that she would be able to get back at least part of her mobility.

"Good enough to perhaps take a shower?" he inquired. She slanted her eyes towards him.

"With some support, I think I could manage." He lifted his brows at her.

"Can you manage to behave yourself might be the question that needs to be asked," he commented bemusedly.

"And if I give you my word to make every effort to conduct myself appropriately?"

"I imagine under those circumstances I could be swayed to offer you assistance," he acquiesced with a chuckle. Laura held a hand out to him.

"Then let's not dawdle, Mr. Steele," she teased. Standing, he swept her up into his arms.

"I wouldn't dare to do any such thing, Mrs. Steele," he assured her.

After a quick stop to round up a change of clothes in the bedroom and cap off the IV, the couple ensconced themselves in the bathroom. When Remington slipped the sling from her shoulder, she gave it a cursory test, rotating the joint while keeping her arm low. Relieved to find the pain had abated, she dared to lift her arm, squelching a yelp. _Still, it's progress,_ she thought to herself. She didn't even register her husband had managed to slip his shirt off of her with nimble fingers until he began unwrapping the ace bandage from around her ribs.

She occupied herself by toying with her rings that still hung around his neck. After a moment he stilled, caught completely off-guard by the longing in her eyes. Standing to his full height, he reached around his neck and unclasped the chain, dropping the rings into the palm of his hand. Taking her left hand in his, he slipped her wedding band onto her finger, then lifted her hand to press lips against palm, finger and ring as he had the night he'd first given it to her. "With this ring," he whispered, repeating the words he'd said that evening four months before. He watched as she blinked back the wetness in her eyes, before sliding her engagement ring next to her wedding band then ran his lips across it. "Back where they belong then, eh?" he asked.

Her hands clutched at his sides to draw him close, his flinch barely discernible as he wrapped her in his arms. She shook her head against his shoulder, and shoved him back. He looked down at her, noticeably confused.

"We've been so wrapped up in my injuries, Mr. Steele, that I just realized I've never asked about your own. How bad are they?" She watched him with keen eyes, ready to call him on any deception.

"I'll be fine," he hedged.

"Uh uh, not buying it. Come here, and let Dr. Holt take a look at you." He took an imperceptible step back.

"Laura…"

"Now, Remington," she demanded, irritated. "If you can play nursemaid to me, then you'll damned well let me do the same for you." Taking note of the fire in her eyes, he reluctantly stepped forward, closing his eyes as her hands poked and prodded various bruises. He was unable to stop himself from sucking in a sharp breath when her fingers explored his ribs. Her head shot up and she frowned at him. "Were you seen… afterwards?"

"It wasn't the most pressing of concerns at the time. My wife was missing, if you recall," he answered, defensively. She sighed.

"When you make that doctor appointment this morning, make sure you make it for two. I want these ribs x-rayed. There's no doubt you have four cracked, but I suspect this one," she prodded it with her fingers, causing him to suck in a deep breath, "may be broken."

"Laura, that's hardly necessary. It's been nearly a week—"

"Either you go or I don't. It's your choice," she retorted. She smirked as he muttered several comments about demanding, overbearing, stubborn wives under his breath, knowing she'd won this round. "Now turn around, I want to see the whole of it." Reluctantly, he did as instructed.

Her fingers traced over his skin, checking various bruises, paying particular interest to those along his lower back. He sucked in his breath again, this time his reaction having nothing to do with pain. He'd missed the feel of her fingers on his skin with a longing that was almost frightening in its intensity and to feel her hands against his skin now? Goosebumps covered his skin. Laura bit her lip, even as the corners of her mouth moved upwards, at his reaction.

"Ready for that shower?" She asked.

 _Aye, a cold one – very cold,_ he thought to himself, but instead said, "Finished with your ministrations, then?"

"I am," she confirmed. With a nod, he moved to shower, turning on the water, waiting until it reached just under scalding as she preferred before he returned to her. Lifting her off the counter, he skimmed her panties down and off, before stripping himself of his pajama pants. Picking her up, he carried her into the shower, setting her on her own two feet carefully.

"Hold onto my waist, love," he instructed.

She did as he asked then closed her eyes as talented fingers washed and conditioned her hair. Her entire body hummed from his attentions, leaving her squirming and him chuckling by the time he finished scrubbing down her body. For principle's sake, she flashed a scowl at him, the result not quite as she planned when he flashed a toothy smile at her. That she longed to return the favor and run soapy hands through that hair of his and being unable to, only served to leave her frustrated. That there was a naked, very virile Mr. Steele with his back turned to her as she held his waist while he showered, served only to make her… itchy.

Touching her lips to his bare shoulder, she ran a hand over the bare cheek of a bum. Remington's bottom twitched at her antics, drawing a smile of satisfaction from Laura. "I believe we had an agreement, Mrs. Steele," he reminded her.

"Yes, we did. That I'd conduct myself appropriately, if I recall accurately," she agreed, as her lips journeyed from one shoulder to the other while her hand stroked his hip before returning to his bottom.

"It would seem you are in violation of that accord," he pointed out breathily.

"To the contrary, Mr. Steele. My very handsome husband, naked before me, his sexy bum on delicious display, his skin bare to my touch… I think my actions are completely appropriate for the occasion," she retorted, her voice turning husky. She slid her small hand between his legs and stroked his scrotum. He pulled in a huge lungful of air and leaned forward to brace himself against the shower wall, her actions nearly buckling his knees.

"Laura," his voice was pleading, "You have to stop, love. We've already agreed to the roadblocks before us at the moment."

"Mmmmm, we have. It seems we've returned to the slopes, at least for another several days," she acknowledged. "Turn around, sweetheart," she requested, her hands urging his hips to do just that. "I need to touch you." At her words, his body trembled with the need to feel her hands, her fingers, her mouth against his bare skin. Releasing a shuddering breath, on shaky legs he turned to face her. Keeping one hand on his hip, she threaded her good hand through his hair then pressed against his neck, urging him down. She gave his bottom lip a gentle nip, then teased until he sank into the kiss with a groan, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her tight against him. Her lips left his to trail across jaw then neck. She felt the shimmer that passed through his body, as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the shower wall. His hands grasped her hips, his fingers clamping down on them. She suckled on that area just below his ear, drawing another groan from him.

"Babe," he murmured. She placed a gentle kiss at the base of his throat.

"I know, Rem," she whispered back. Her use of her nickname for him comforted a heart that had been aching since the day she was taken. His hands sunk into her hair and drew her lips to his again. He fed on her lips as though he were a starving man, leaving her gasping against his lips when she pulled away.

She drew her fingers down his neck, watching as his eyes closed again. When both of her hands tangled in the hair on his chest, he opened his eyes to watch. There was that look again, the one in which she became lost in the feel of him beneath her hands. She watched as the hair ran over the top of her fingers then fell, reveling in the sensation. She closed her eyes, her breath quickening, remembering that only a few short days before she'd thought she never know the touch of him again. Opening her eyes, she tilted her head up to look at him, waiting until his vivid blue eyes met her own.

"I love you, Remington Chalmers Steele," she whispered in an aching voice. His hands grasped either side of her face as he stared into amber eyes overflowing with emotion. It was that look, as much as her words, that made his heart hammer in his chest.

"My God, Laura, I hope nearly as much as I do you," he declared gruffly. Her eyes lit up and moistened at the same time. "Come here, love," he implored, drawing her lips to his again.

He kissed her senseless in that manner he used when he felt most close to her, most needed her near him. She savored his rich taste as she moved her hand over his heart, felt it pounding, cherished that she was able to do this to him. Sliding down his chest and over his hip, her fingers massaged the bare skin of his bum. He pulled his lips from hers, dipping his head against her shoulder, panting at the touch. His mouth found those glorious freckles alternately suckling and running the tip of his tongue over them. He growled, deep in his throat, when her finger fluttered up the length of him, before wrapping around him and gliding over him, once… twice.. three times.

 _Icy calm, old sport_ , he told himself, trying to control his body's raging need. All hope of control was lost, in a split second, as he watched her carefully lower herself to her knees.

"You don't have—" he managed to force out, the remainder of the words lost to him when her tongue swept up the underside of his length. "Oh God, babe," he murmured. His fingers found her hair, tangling it, but providing no direction, merely seeking contact.

Biting her lip she looked up at him, then flashed those bewitching dimples at him, before she leaned over and took the tip of his shaft in her mouth, suckling lightly. His free hand slapped against the shower wall, searching for anything to hold on to. She worked her hands and mouth, using every trick she'd learned over the last months, taking him quickly to the edge of the cliff. She allowed him to hover there for a moment, flashing him a wicked smile as he asked himself, _What kind of cruel woman is this I've married?_ Seeing his desperation flash across his face, she returned her mouth to him, taking in half his length, while her small hand opened and closed around the base of his shaft. When she reached with her other hand to give his sac a gentle squeeze, he shattered, quietly calling her name as she swallowed every last drop of his essence.

Remington sank to the floor of the shower, watching as she tipped her head back to take a long drink of water. Then, clasping her hips in his hands, he lifted her to straddle his lap and wrapped his arms around her. His lips traveled along a shoulder, even as he continued to shudder in the aftermath of his climax.

"I take it you're pleased?" she laughed against his neck, her fingers playing in his hair. Taking her head in his hands, he ran a string of kisses across her lips.

"Laura, what you're able to do to me borders on criminal," he declared. She leaned back on his lap and grinned at him.

"Hmmmmm. Criminal… criminal." She tapped a finger against her lips. "I think I would say that your wife is a private investigator, who has taken the time to diligently uncover her husband's secrets one-by-one in order to bring him the most pleasure," she corrected.

"Further proof of why the Agency is so successful," he conceded the point, drawing a gleeful laugh from her. She wriggled her way out of his arms.

"Can you help me up?" Remington lifted his brows at her.

"I think I can manage that," he agreed.

Once he gained his own feet, he turned off the water, then picked her up and plunked her on the bathroom counter, handing her a towel. He dried himself off quickly and efficiently, then once he'd pulled black briefs and jeans on, turned back to her. Patting down her legs, the only part of her body she'd been unable to miss, he reached for her clothes. He frowned, holding up a pair of panties and a dress.

"Forgive me love, but aren't we missing a piece or two here?" She looked at what he held up and shrugged.

"No. It seems the most practical given my limitations. As I've pointed out before, one of the benefits of not being… amply endowed… is that I can get away without wearing a bra." A single brow lifted in her direction.

"A bit scant, isn't it? Or is it your plan to drive me crazy all day knowing how little you are wearing?"

"Just a pleasant side effect, I assure you," she laughed. Lifting her down to stand, he helped her into her panties then returned her to the counter to wrap ankle and ribs.

"Well, one thing is for certain…" She tilted her head at him.

"Oh?"

"I won't have to see the inside of a gym for the next year by the time this is all said and done." He lifted her down from the counter, only to find her swatting his shoulder."

"Who do you think you're kidding here?" she asked, her lips lifted in amusement. "The only time you've seen the inside of a gym was six months ago during the Dowd case and if I remember correctly, Mr. Steele," she said drawing a single finger down his chest, "during that particular visit to the gym you lost hold on the hand weight with which you were attempting to demonstrate your prowess." He shot her an affronted look.

"Really, Mrs. Steele, one might think a man could expect his wife to defend his 'prowess' rather than make a mockery of it."

"Why, Mr. Steele, you wouldn't want me to lie, would you?" Playfully, he pouted.

"Well yes, unless you wish to damage my fragile ego." Laura laughed with mirth.

"You?! Fragile ego?" She shook her head, but then played along, giving him her best, apologetic look. "Would your wounded ego feel better if I were to tout your considerable prowess," she ran a hand over a cheek of his bottom, "in other areas?" He grinned at her.

"It might," he wagged his brows at her.

"If I must," she sighed dramatically. "No one is better than you. You continually astound me with your creativity, commitment, and ability to create divine pleasure," she paused for a beat, "in the kitchen." Remington's face blanked for a second, then he barked out a laugh.

"Still saving me from myself, then, eh?" he asked, helping her down from the counter. He frowned at the dress in his hands.

"Always, Mr. Steele," she agreed.

"Laura, how in the devil does one put this… garment on? There's nary a button or a zipper to be found." With an amused snort, she gave the bow at the front a tug, and the material fell open.

"It's a wrap around. I might need help getting it on, but I figure I could at least get out of it myself tonight," she told him, slipping her arms into the sleeves.

"I'm not sure if I should be disappointed or enthralled," he commented, fastening the lone button then tying the sash.

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"On the one hand," he answered, while slipping on his shirt, "there is little else I enjoy more than undressing my lovely wife, so certainly that pleasure will be taken from me this evening. On the other hand, it holds such promise for the future." He wagged his brows at her, then grinned as a blush stole across her skin courtesy of her vivid imagination. "I see you understand," he teased, bussing her neck before sweeping her up and carrying her to their room where he sat her on their bed.

Nicking her brush and a barrette from her overnight bag, he settled in behind her and began working the knots from her hair.

"No obligatory comments on how you don't need my assistance?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Mmmm mmmmm. It feels too good. You're very good at this."

In short order, he had her hair brushed out and the front clipped back in the barrette. After slipping a pair of sandals on her feet, he handed her makeup bag to her.

"Think you can manage this, love?" At her nod, he grabbed his shave kit and comb and returned to the bathroom.

In short order, they were prepared to face the day. Lifting her back up in his arms, he handed her the IV bag then carried her out to the kitchen. Elena turned as they entered the room and carried two plates over to the counter, placing them before the couple. Rounding it, she took Laura's face in hands and looked her over carefully before placing a kiss on each of her cheeks.

"Much better," she assessed with a nod. "Eat, eat. Mikos has the car pulled around and you will leave in twenty minutes. Dimitris will accompany you today." Remington raised his brows and lifted his shoulders at Laura when she looked at him questioningly.

"For?"

"Dr. Papadopoulos is expecting you," she said simply. He looked at her surprised.

"How did you know I'd planned for Laura to be seen today?" Elena frowned at him then wagged a finger in his direction.

"Xenos, my children arrived to my home harmed. Did you think I would not require they see our doctor?" Now he frowned slightly, while Laura gave a short snort of amusement next to him, even as she tucked herself into the eggs, sausage, potatoes and fruit on the plate before her.

"They? Believe me, Elena, I'm beyond grateful that you've made an appointment for Laura, but I hardly think I need to see a doctor myself." Laura paused in eating, fork midway to her mouth, to look at him, irritation flashing across her face.

"I believe we already agreed—" Her reminder of their conversation in the bathroom was cut short by Elena.

"You will see the doctor, Xenos, and that is the last that will be said on the matter." Remington's mouth wagged, without uttering a word, for a long moment, drawing another snort of laughter from Laura. In the end, he could only nod his dumbfounded assent. With a curt nod, considering the matter settled, Elena continued on. "Zeth and Christos will be here for lunch at Marcos's asking," she informed Remington with a pointed look. "This evening, the family will dine together at six, and after we will open the house for those who wish to welcome our Xenos and Laura home." This drew a concerned glance from Remington towards Laura.

"Elena, as much as I'd like to see the family, I think it may be a bit much for Laura at the moment. We may need to bow out so that—" Laura's hand patted his.

"Laura will be fine," she told him in quiet admonishment. She watched the stubborn glint form in his eyes.

"We've barely had you back, and the last three nights have been anything but restful for you. You need time to heal, to sleep," he argued.

"We're in Greece, with your family. I'll have plenty of time to rest, and spending time with your family, whom I happen to enjoy immensely, will do me worlds of good," she countered.

"Laura…" he said warningly. She raised her brows at him.

"I'm injured, Remington, not sick," she argued.

"The IV currently attached to you would say quite otherwise," he countered, an edge to his voice. "Need I remind you a mere four days ago I stood watch over you as you hovered on the brink of catastrophe!" Setting her fork down, she leaned back in her chair and studied him. Seeing blinding panic hovering at the edges of his nervous countenance, she reluctantly recognized some form of concession would need to be made. She reached for his hand and weaved their fingers together.

"I tell you what. Let's see what the doctor has to say this morning and we'll _both_ agree to abide by whatever he recommends," she offered quietly. His fingers gripped hers in both worry and gratitude.

Elena watched the exchange with concern laying heavily upon her heart.


	31. Chapter 31: Family Fortress

Remington and Laura returned to the house with the latter of them in a fine temperament. Dr. Papadopoulus had removed the sling from her arm, wanting to maintain range of motion in the joint, but only upon her giving him her word she would keep her arm a chest level or below until her follow-up appointment on Tuesday. She'd been thrilled when he'd had his nurse remove the IV, less so after he prescribed sulfonamide and vancomycin for the next two weeks. He'd proclaimed her cracked ribs healing, then ordered the compression wrap to remain in place at least another week, increasing her crankiness. After confirming that the Achilles would require surgical repair, he'd extracted a promise that as soon as the couple returned to Los Angeles they would consult with an orthopedic surgeon. However, given the Achilles could not be further damaged, he'd permitted Laura to walk so long as she agreed to keep the ankle wrapped and to wear the dreaded boot, the mere mention of which had Laura mumbling under her breath. He'd almost put himself into her good graces again when he'd agreed an evening with the family would likely serve her well, until he stipulated that he would recommend limiting that time to three hours or less. She'd seen red at that admonishment and had been muttering to herself since.

Remington, on the other hand, found himself inordinately fond of the kind doctor. After all, not many people, man or woman, would risk Laura's wrath by being so bold as to place restrictions upon her. It only increased his wife's discontent that he'd walked away only with a compression bandage for four cracked ribs.

They arrived back at the house a mere ten minutes before the lunch hour. Elena had met them at the door then clucked over their list of various injuries.

"We'll be fine, Elena," Remington assured her, bussing his worried mother hen on the cheek. "The good doctor cleared Laura for company this evening so long as she limits herself to three hours." He ignored the daggers shot his way by his accommodating wife, and suppressed his smirk, knowing full-well Elena would see to it that those orders were honored.

"Marcos and your brothers await you on the terrace, Xenos," Elena informed him. Taking Laura's hand in his and tangling their fingers together, he obediently followed Elena's unspoken command and went to join the men.

All three men stood as Laura and Remington joined them. Marcos had not yet shared the details of what had happened, had only summoned the two men for a family meeting. When Zeth and Christos stood to welcome their brother and sister-in-law, they were stunned. Zeth, always the more introspective of the two, unconsciously took a step back while his eyes darted from one to the other before settling at length on Laura.

"Should I ask what accident befell the two of you?" he inquired. Remington's jaw twitched and his eyes hardened before he answered.

"It was no accident, that I can assure you," he answered brusquely.

Zeth frowned at the answer, and glanced at Marcos. Seeing the anger on his normally jovial father's face had Zeth's head snapping around to look at the couple again. Christos kept silence, his eyes narrowing and fists opening and closing against his side after Remington's words. A man that indulged in fisticuffs far too often over the years, much to his mother's disapproval, he was all too familiar with what a bruise left by a fist resembled. That Laura sported such bruises on both eyes and a cheekbone, that her arms, hands and legs displayed countless cuts and bruises, ignited his fury. Marcos, seeing this, laid a hand on his youngest son's arm.

"Sit," he told them all. While Christos and Zeth took their original seats, Remington and Laura perched on the side of a lounge chair, hands still held. "Tell them what you will," Marcos instructed, carefully wording the directive so that Laura would not feel compelled to share anything she wasn't prepared to. The couple looked at each other and with a slight squeeze of his hand, she indicated he should start. He blew out a long breath as he searched for the words, having no desire to relive those four days again.

"Last Saturday I received a call from a friend who was to stay at Laura's old home with his wife while they were visiting. It appeared the loft had been broken into, someone had been staying there. As we were expecting company, Laura remained at home while I went to assess the damages." He turned to her, his eyes pleading for understanding before he continued. "Indeed, someone had been living there. Once we discovered the pictures hanging in the bathroom, I knew it was the man that had been stalking her for months." He felt her stiffen beside him, as he revealed a previously unspoken part of the story. He gave her hand a squeeze, silently asking that she hold her temper until they were alone. He was held speechless by the dread of what he knew would come, that she would see this as a violation of their agreement that there would be no further secrets between them.

"Go on, Xenos," Marcos prompted, interrupting his thoughts.

"I left the loft, to get back to her as quickly as possible. But, as I exited the building and made my way to my car, I was accosted by three men. They had a message for me, they said. First, that Laura was free now of my abuse and second, that my interference would come to an end there. They took their turns on me. Rather thorough chaps, I must give them that," he said, trying to inject some levity into the conversation, regretting it when he saw the pained look that flashed through Laura's eyes.

"He told me he'd had… Xenos… mutilated; implied he'd been killed." He watched as she blanked her face in that way she had when she hid from her emotions. His heart clenched. He'd seen that particular look lessen over months' past to the point that it had been nearly non-existent, at last. That she was resorting to it now…

"It may well have happened had Murphy and Sherry not happened along," he admitted. "The ring leader had just tossed the larger of the men a knife, instructed him to finish off the job. When the lackey refused, the leader reclaimed the knife to do it himself." He felt her flinch next to him, and squeezed her hand trying to offer comfort. "When Murphy and I arrived back at our flat, it was too late, Laura was gone. He'd taken her."

"Taken?" Christos asked, his voice hard. "You mean he kidnapped her?"

Remington and Laura both nodded.

"I thought Xenos had come home. When I came out of the bedroom, he was there, waiting. He told me that Xenos wouldn't have me. That it was time to go. We struggled. I managed to get away, briefly, locking myself in the bedroom. But he broke down the door." She turned her head away from Remington, unable to watch what she knew she'd see on his face when she said the next words. "We argued. He took exception to a couple of the things I said. Punched me," she said, unconsciously lifting her hand to her face. "We had another altercation, this time he dazed me long enough to inject me with something. When I regained consciousness, we were in a car." Christos catapulted from his chair and began to pace, fists still clenching and unclenching, while Zeth had a slightly green tint around his jowls but otherwise still appeared placid.

"How long?" Christos demanded to know. "How long did this…this… κακό τέρας… this beast have you?"

"Chris…" Zeth interrupted, his voice quiet, trying to calm. "Sit down, let them finish. Your rage is not helping." Christos looked from Zeth to Marcos. At his father's slight nod, he returned to his seat, fingers digging into the arm rests.

Laura shivered beside Remington. Releasing her hand, he shifted so that their hips touched and wrapped an arm around her, his hand stroking her arm. She didn't have the heart to tell him her reaction was not due to the small portion of the story she'd told, but from relief that Christos had inadvertently given her an out: she'd not have to tell the whole of it.

Remington was not faring as well. Having heard, for the first time, Laura recount those first minutes with Roselli, had brought the fear he'd felt across those four days crashing in around him again. He needed to know all of it – every atrocity the man had done to her. Needed his rage to burn until there was no more fuel left for it to burn. Needed the answers so that his fertile imagination could stop creating countless renditions of what had been done to her to cause her numerous injuries, that fed the nightmares from which she'd wake screaming.

"Four days," she finally answered for the two of them.

"He's behind bars then," Christos assumed. She shook her head in the negative.

"He came after me again, the day before yesterday in the hospital," she corrected.

"And now?" he asked, his voice hard. She shrugged.

"We don't know, but he's out there somewhere, still free." Christos took to his feet again, taking his rage out against a potted plant that he swept from the terrace walls into the rocks below.

"Christos, that is enough!" Marcos barked. "Your rage cannot change the past. We must look to what can be done in the present. Now, come, sit. We've plans to make." Christos rubbed the back of his neck in frustration but did as his father bade.

"Have you something in mind, Papa?" Zeth asked Marcos.

"I do. Yourself and Christos will work an abbreviated schedule for the time being. One of us will be near at all times. As I am home each evening, it will be up to you and Chris to cover the daylight hours. Alex and Stavros have also been relieved of some of their duties, so they will alternate as well. Chris, you will pair with Alex, Zeth with Stavros. Mikos will be here in the evenings with myself." Both men gave short nods, accepting their assignments without question. "This evening, the family will be called upon. The man will not arrive on Santorini without our knowledge."

"And should he arrive?" Christos wondered.

"He will not depart a free man. We will assure that the man finds himself in the cage in which he belongs so that our Xenos and Laura may live in peace, as they should." Marcos looked up when Elena called from the upper terrace that lunch was served. "We will discuss this more after we eat. Your mother is not to be worried with the details, understood?" All four adults murmured their understanding. "Then come, let's eat."

Lunch was a quiet affair, by Androkos standards, with only six adults in attendance. Talk centered on family and business, making the air at the table light and enjoyable. Frequently during the meal, Remington glanced towards Laura. While to anyone but he she appeared fully engaged, smiling at the right times, laughing when the occasion called, tossing in a thoughtful question here and there, he was all too familiar with withdrawn Laura, and she was in attendance throughout the meal. Elena surreptitiously watched the both of them, noting the strain around Remington's eyes and the tension in his shoulders and that neither Laura's smile nor her laughter quite reached her eyes.

Frequently, Remington brushed his finger across the back of her rings or gave her hand a little squeeze. She gave no recognition of either. When she lay her napkin on the table before the meal was finished and stood, announcing she was tired and needed to lie down, he stood to join her. She shook him off telling him to finish his meal, that she'd be fine. Bussing her on the cheek, he slowly sat back down in his seat, angst ridden eyes following her from the room. Nevertheless, he assumed a casual pose, slinging his arm against the back of her chair where she'd sat.

"So, Zeth, how fares the newest edition?" Zeth's proud grin lit up his face.

"Getting bigger by the minute and destined to be the next great philosopher that hails from Greece, I'd wager." Remington laughed.

"Oh, and how is that?"

"Thaddeus renders an opinion on every matter. Granted, usually by squawking at the top of his lungs, but his thoughts are registered by one and all." Everyone around the table laughed, before Christos turned amused eyes towards Remington.

"So tell us, Xen, how long until you start contributing your own offspring to the Androkos brood." Remington fairly choked on the water he was drinking, garnering a huge guffaw from Christos.

"Need I point out to you, little brother, that Laura and I've been married but four months… today," he frowned at the realization.

"Perhaps you need to be reminded that both Zeth and I were already expecting our first by our four month anniversaries," he challenged.

"Yes, well, uh, Laura and I've discussed the matter and we both agree we'd prefer time to enjoy our solitude for a bit before we bring any little tykes into the picture." Christos grinned that he'd fallen for the bait.

"Plural then. Planning to compete with Zeth and myself?" Remington looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"Good Lord, no. With our careers, one will be quite the challenge. The two of you can feel quite free to continue populating Oia. Laura and I will be content to limit ourselves to the single bedroom she's set aside."

"Afraid you can't keep up, then?" Remington laughed loudly.

"Ah, you seem overly concerned with my virility while I, on the other hand, am far more concerned with maintaining our sanity." Marcos laughed loudly at the interplay.

"Enough, my boys, enough. Ahh, but I have missed watching the two of you verbally spar," he laughed again. "But now, it is time to return our attentions to the matters at hand." Standing, he placed a kiss on his wife's cheek. "Let us return to the lower deck."

As the four men returned to lower deck, Elena turned to Mikos. "Mikos, if you will clean up after our lunch, I would much appreciate it. I will go to sit with our Laura should her dreams chase her from her sleep again."

"Of course, Tia Elena," he readily agreed.

With a heavy heart, Elena walked down the hallway to the room Remington and Laura shared. When her light taps at the door went unanswered, she slipped into the room and sat in her rocker still positioned near the bedside. Moisture wet her eyes as she watched Laura frown and mumble in her sleep. Leaning forward, she stroked the younger woman's head, speaking softly to her until she settled. Then, closing her eyes, she rocked back and forth in the chair as she prayed for guidance on how to help her children heal.

Outside, Marcos hammered out the details of his plan, that would involve all of their extended family, spread out across Santorini. Should Roselli appear on the island, a single phone call would set into action a network of phone calls and word-of-mouth that would leave every family on the lookout. Should Roselli manage to get near Laura or Remington another network would be activated and every able bodied man or woman would be set into movement. At the conclusion of Marcos's detailed rendering of his plan, the knot of blinding panic that Roselli would manage to get to Laura again began to ease. Remington let out a long, deep, shaky breath.

Meeting concluded, Remington stood and walked across the veranda to lean on outstretched arms against the wall, trying to clear the tension from his body before he went and joined Laura in their room. Zeth and Christos watched him, then turned to look at one another. With silent agreement they stood to go join their brother. As two of the few people in the world that truly knew Remington both understood that despite his efforts to appear he'd left the events of Laura's kidnapping in the past and was firmly rooted in the here-and-now and how to prevent another such occurrence, that he was, in fact, slowly sinking down into the quicksand of despair. Christos lay and arm over Remington's shoulders, as he stood beside him.

"Let the anger, the rage at what has happened to our Laura out, big brother. You are here with family, we will understand. We will stand and rage along with you. But to hold it in will only eat you alive in the end." Remington lifted tortured eyes to the man, knowing there was no purpose in trying to hide from those that knew him so well.

"How can I do that when I've no idea what has happened to her, eh?" Remington asked morosely. With a clap of his hand on Christos shoulder, Remington turned to return to the house. His brothers could only watch as he walked away.

Remington slipped into their bedroom, starting slightly at the sight of Elena rocking in her chair, keeping watch over Laura. Pressing a finger to her lips, Elena indicated Laura slept. Without thought, Remington slid into the bed next to Laura, stretching out on his back, then with a touch of his fingers against her arm, let her find him. Sensing him near, she rolled over in her sleep and pressed herself into his side, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. Bussing her on the top of the head, he wrapped his arms around her, mouthing a silent thank you to Elena as she left the room. With Laura nestled safely in his arms, Remington closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

Remington was jolted from sleep as Laura's piercing screams ripped through the air of the bedroom. This time, instead of being caught in the grips of the nightmare, her own screams had awakened her. Embarrassed by what she saw as her display of weakness, she scrambled from the bed, leaving his arm grabbing air when he reached for her. Slinging open the French doors, she escaped to the balcony. He quickly followed in pursuit, standing behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist as she leaned against the railing.

"Talk to me, Laura," he told her, cringing at the note of pleading in his voice. She shook her head, almost violently.

"Must have been a bad dream. I don't even remember," she panting, the bold lie slipping far too easily from her lips. "Just give me a minute. I'll be fine." She allowed herself the indulgence of leaning back against him as she battled for control. His arm tightened around her waist and he pressed his cheek against the side of her head. In his mind, he could hear it as several more bricks of that damnable wall he'd battled against for years were put back into place.

They stood that way for a long time, in silence, until they returned to the bedroom and bed, Laura escaping her worries by slinking back into the dreams that haunted her.

In the living room, Zeth and Christos had leapt to their feet upon hearing Laura's terrified screams, prepared to storm the bedroom and take on whomever it was that was there.

"Stop," Marcos ordered quietly. His sons turned to look at him, puzzled. "It is what happens when she sleeps," the older man told them wearily. His sons sat back down, hard, into their chairs.

"Every time?" Zeth asked, stunned.

"So it would seem," his father answered.

Both men could only stare down the hallway towards the bedroom and wonder what in the hell had happened to their sister-in-law that such fear would haunt her dreams and worry about how hard it was on their brother that he had no answers.


	32. Chapter 32: Elena's Counsel

Friday, October 24 – Tuesday, October 28, 1986

Remington sat perched on the upper veranda wall, looking out at the Aegean, lost in his misery. Laura had been back for a week now. The nightmares continued to plague her sleep, increasing in their frequency instead of lessening. Now, her screams woke even herself, but instead of turning to him for comfort, more and more she was scurrying away, trying to self-sooth. Not that she would resist him when he'd give chase, but the mere fact she opted to leave in the first place, only added more worry to his troubled heart.

For the first time since Daniel's death, she wore that icy calm mask of hers during all her waking hours. On Friday evening, as the house had filled with family, she'd laughed and joked as though she'd not a care in the world. Yet _he'd_ not failed to notice, her smile never reached her eyes, which remained carefully blank. That she'd claimed fatigue and had left the festivities nearly an hour before the three hours she'd battled fiercely for that morning were up, only set off more alarms in his mind.

And since? He rubbed a hand across his mouth and held it there as his heart clenched.

He was losing her, bit-by-bit, with each passing day. He could see it. Could almost hear it as she spread the mortar on her mind's wall and dropped another brick in place. To know that she was preparing herself for the moment he walked away tore a chasm in his soul.

* * *

" _ **I never wanted this, but I'll never let it go of it now."**_

* * *

Was it only three weeks ago that she'd made that vow, he wondered? It seemed like a lifetime… three lifetimes ago. It seemed like a vow she was preparing to break.

Only ten days before, she'd asked what he'd believed would happen when they finally crossed that line.

* * *

" _ **I'd suspected for quite some time that once we made love, I'd want it all. You, marriage, hearth and home… a family. Once I'd made you mine, I knew there wasn't a chance in hell I'd ever be able to let you go. If you'd run again… if you hadn't wanted the same… I didn't know if I could bear the loss once I'd come so close to having all of you."**_

* * *

He lifted his head heavenward and took a deep, shuddering breath. He'd been fully honest with her that evening. What he hadn't understood, fathomed, was that just feeling her loosening her hold on them would be so hard. If it ached this much while at least a part of her remained close, when she still sought his body as she slept, what would it be like when she finally managed to hide herself completely away?

He took to his feet at the thought, striding quickly across the terrace then in through the kitchen, casting a look towards Marcos who was seated at the bar nursing his morning coffee. Seeing the desperation in his son's eyes, he gave Remington a short nod, assuring him he'd watch over Laura in Remington's absence. In the kitchen, where Laura leaned against the counter sipping a cup of coffee of her own, Remington wrapped his arms tightly around her, breathing deeply her scent, before bussing her on the cheek.

"I'll be back," he promised, touching his thumb to her lower lip, before he turned and left. She listened as the front door closed behind him seconds later.

Laura's jaw quivered and her eyes moistened before she forcefully tamped her emotions back down. _Icy calm, Holt, icy calm_ , she reminded herself, repeating the mantra until the feelings were tucked away.

Unbeknownst to Remington, she'd stood at the veranda doors watching him as he sat on the wall, her heart aching at the misery she saw painted in every defeated line of his body. To know that she was the source of his pain, nearly buckled her knees. Not knowing how to stop it without tearing them apart, left her floundering helplessly as she watched everything they'd begun to build together start to crumble. Without realizing it, she let out a long, shuddering sigh that drew Elena's attention fully upon her.

Elena had seen the look shared between Marcos and Remington before the latter had departed, then watched the young woman before her clutch her husband's back when he'd hugged her. The man she considered a son and the woman, by virtue of her marriage to said man, a daughter, were both in remarkable pain. She'd stood back and observed for almost five days now, had never asked Marcos what exactly had happened to the two of them, but had witnessed the harm done not begin to heal but only deepen. Well, she was going to stand by no longer.

"Marcos, you will leave us," Elena told her husband. Marcos looked up at her, then nodded briefly after seeing the determination in her eyes. He, better than anyone, knew not to interfere with Elena when one of her children needed her. But two? He made a hasty retreat to the living room where he could be close enough for trouble, but far enough to lend them their privacy.

"Come, my Laura," Elena told her, clasping Laura's face in her hands. "We will talk."

Laura opened her mouth to decline, but found she couldn't. She was no more capable of denying this woman's directives than Remington, her children or her husband. Silently, she followed Elena down to the lower terrace, where the older woman indicated she should take a seat in a chaise.

"Would you, Laura, indulge an old woman and allow her to tell you a story?" Elena asked after they'd gotten comfortable.

"Of course," Laura smiled, her relief that this was the reason Elena wanted to speak to her written all over her face. Elena reached over and patted Laura's hand, before beginning her tale.

"The day Marcos brought Xenos home, oh, my heart ached. Never had I seen a child in such a poor state: sick, so pale you could see the veins in his arms, and so thin it was a wonder he was able to stand on his own two feet. But all of these things did not compare to the look he had in his eyes," Elena closed her eyes, remembering, "Begging that we not harm him, even as he poked his little chin up in defiance. After we settled him in, he took to myself and the children almost at once. Marcos, though?" Elena shook her head. "He watched him with fear for weeks before he finally realized no harm would come to him at my husband's hands." Laura nodded, recalling when Marcos had told her much the same.

"In the weeks that followed, he did his best to be neither seen nor heard when not in the company of one of the children. Yet, often when he believed he was not being watched, a look of such… such… λαχτάρα… uh… yearning… would cross his face. He hungered desperately for a home to call his own. He tried to be the perfect child in hopes we would not turn him out: Polite, studious, chores always done to perfection, never missing an art class, one of the best players on his football team. It was only with his siblings, particularly Christos, that he felt safe allowing his mischievous nature to show."

"Xenos and I, we had a special bond. Unlike my own children, he was beside himself with happiness when his turn for kitchen duty arrived. It was only then that he would truly let his guard down, allow his enthusiasm and humor to show. We would plan the meals together, then prepare the meals when he arrived home from school. He would ask questions endlessly. 'Why do dice a carrot for one dish, but slice it for another? It doesn't change the taste, after all.'" Elena laughed aloud. "Such a precocious child. Such joyous times when he and I would share the kitchen." Laura's face lit with a smile. "Yet there were times I would see that hunger still there."

"I blamed myself for his choosing to leave," she confessed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "In the days after our ship exploded, there was a new look in Xenos's eyes, one that I had not seen before. I thought, like all of us, that he was the mourning the loss of what had almost been. Then I woke one morning and he was gone. It was only then that I realized what I had seen: despair, the belief that he would be sent on his way now that our financial tides had turned." A tear leaked from Elena's eye and she wiped it away harshly.

"It was only in losing Xenos that the children and I realized what mourning truly was. Our little Melina cried buckets, demanding that we find her big brother and bring him home. Zeth? He could not make himself say Xenos's name, his devastation ran so deep. And Christos? He raged. He and Xenos were so close. As for me? My precious boy was gone. I grieved as deeply as if he'd gone to his final rest and every day for nine years, I prayed God would keep my Xenos safe and bring him home to us one day." She wiped away her tears, then smiled over at Laura, the younger woman only endearing herself to Elena further as quiet tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Then, one day a knock on our door, and our Xenos had returned to us." She crossed lay her hands over her heart. "My heart ached it was filled with such joy, until I saw those eyes and knew that my prayers had been answered only in part. The same longing still remained, but the wariness, the belief he'd never find a true home ran deeper than ever. But worst of all, I could see his hope had died." She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the chaise, then waited for Laura to do the same so that she could take Laura's hands in her own.

"Then, last summer, after five years' absence, he returned home again and that look was gone. It had been replaced by peace, joy… the love for a woman that ran so deep it nourished his soul. A look reflected in your own eyes when you looked at my son. At last my prayers had been answered…" Elena touched her fingertips to Laura's cheeks, "…because of you, my Laura."

"But these last days…" she continued, taking Laura's hands in hers again and giving them a gentle squeeze, "…that look has returned. I do not pretend to know what happened to you when you were in that monster's hands. But the not knowing is torturing our Xenos and he is coming to believe that he is losing all that matters most to him, what he has waited his entire life for: You. Tell him, my daughter, and trust that his love for you will be abiding. Only then, will both of you be able to heal." Standing, Elena leaned over and pressed a kiss to each of Laura's cheeks. "I will leave you now."

Elena slowly made her way up the stairs to the upper level of the veranda where she found Marcos watching over both of them. Without a word spoken, he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Such pain," Elena murmured against his shoulder as she allowed her tears to flow. He tightened his hold around her.

"I know, I know, asteri tis zois mou. I have prayed each night that our children may find the joy that once flowed through their hearts." he told her.

They watched over Laura, as she wandered the terrace, lost in her thoughts. For the first time since that last day with Roselli, she felt the stirrings of the person she was only a week and a half before: the woman confident in her husband's love for her. Elena's reminiscing had reminded Laura of the look that had been so often in his eyes in their early days and those days when their personal relationship was placed on hold. The stark vulnerability that had shown there when he would allow her to see past his various guises had never failed to draw her in. That the look Elena had described has been missing since that afternoon at Ashford Castle, when they'd finally admitted what they were to one another, had lifted her own heart, made her believe in all the possibilities that lay ahead.

She'd seen it reappear for the first time again three days before. As always, the first day of her cycle came with a hefty dose of misery. Over the last months they'd fallen into a ritual: His magical fingers would massage away the aches and pains then they'd spend the day curled up on the couch together watching old movies, his body pressed against her back proving to be far more therapeutic than a heating pad. While she'd welcomed the massage, when she turned on her side and he wrapped his arm around her waist, she'd stiffened at the memory of Roselli's hand there, then before she could stop the compulsion, she'd fled to the balcony, gulping in huge breaths of air. He'd followed behind, but she'd sidestepped his attempt to put his arm around her and hold her near, fearful that the arm at her waist would pitch her headlong into a panic attack.

She'd turned to him, only to see a look of stark despair flash through his eyes. Then, a millisecond later, that lost look he'd shed so many months before had settled in his eyes. That she was the cause had only made her turn further inward, so that she didn't inadvertently hurt him further.

She'd been struggling to find the words that she knew he was waiting for, but couldn't find a way to speak without leaving him bleeding in the end, without placing at risk the life they'd been creating together. Now, he'd taken to his feet, something he only did when most angry or most hurt. Watching him as she had earlier, as he'd sat upon the wall in front of her, she knew it was the latter. Elena had not been far from the truth. She'd seen it herself. Her silence was torturing him as his mind tried to fill in the blanks by itself.

She had no choice but to face the cold, stark reality of the truth. Her silence was harming him; her words would as well. Silence, lack of confrontation, secrets, things left unsaid. They had all been at the root of their inability to find their way to each other for nearly four years. That realization left her with only a single choice: to trust that what they'd been building would be able to withstand exactly where her flirtation with Roselli had taken them.

Sitting down on the chaise lounge, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head upon them and waited for him to return.


	33. Chapter 33: Filling in Blanks

Remington walked for nearly two hours, trying to find answers, hope, comfort, anything at all but the damned torment of not knowing, of watching Laura slip away a little more each day. He'd found nothing. The woman that was the source of his anguish was also the woman that could calm him by simply gliding her gentle fingers through his hair. Long ago, he'd recognized that she was his beacon, his anchor. With her lost in the nightmare of what had been done to her, his emotions threatened to drown him in a sea of darkness. He needed her, but didn't know how to tell her that he did without placing another burden upon her slender shoulders.

The only conclusion he'd been able to reach about anything at all was that should his paths cross with Roselli's again, he'd kill the man with his bare hands.

Automatically, Remington went to their bedroom in search of his wife, saying a small prayer that she hadn't fallen asleep and woken from nightmares to find herself alone. Finding their room and the adjacent balcony empty, he backtracked to the kitchen. Discovering it abandoned as well, only the terrace remained. On the upper level, he found Marcos and Elena speaking quietly to one another from the small café table set into the corner. Both looked over him with an intensity that left him squirming before them.

"Our Laura waits below for you," Marcos informed him. Remington frowned at the news.

"You left her alone when that madman is still out there somewhere running about?" he demanded to know.

"We've kept watch over her. Her need for privacy was the most pressing concern, I assure you," Marcos answered, while giving the younger man a quelling look of disapproval for his tone.

Remington turned on his heel and made his way down to the lower level. There, he found Laura curled up in a chaise, sound asleep. Remembering, with his first laugh in days, the last time her fair skin had been subjected to the sun coming off the Aegean, he leaned down and touched her cheek to see if her skin bore the heat of a sunburn sure to come. She jerked away at his touch before she realized it was he at her side, then with purpose leaned her cheek into his hand, before taking it in her own and pressing her lips to his palm. When he leaned down to buss the top of her head, only to find her abruptly standing and walking away from him, he faltered, before crossing his arms and fixing her with a cool gaze.

Laura paced belong the wall overlooking the sea for several long moments. When she began speaking, he had to step several steps closer to hear her, she spoke so low.

"I woke that first day handcuffed to the car door. Hours had passed. It was night out. I thought I'd fallen asleep with you on the couch, searched for you. It took me a while to realize I wasn't at home, to remember what had happened. Roselli wasn't in the car and when I looked out the windows I didn't see him anywhere. I broke the door handle and ran. If it hadn't been for my ankle, I might have gotten away. As it was, one minute I was running and the next, he tackled me." Reaching up she touched a hand to the back of her head, still able to feel in her mind where her head had bounced off the ground. "I imagine that's where a least one of the concussions came from. He took me by my neck," her hand moved there, "and forced me back to the car, but not before he kissed me…" she squeezed her eyes tight against the memory as a shudder of revulsion shook her body even as her hands lay over her breast, telling Remington vividly where Roselli's hands had gone, "…touched me. When I couldn't push him away, I bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He hit me, hard. This time when he handcuffed me, he anchored the cuffs to the frame. He gave me a shot of something, I don't know what." Her voice broke and she took a deep breath to calm herself. "For hours on end, he taunted me. Telling me that you'd been 'carved up' and 'finished off,' reminding me over and over again that you were gone because of me, because I'd led him on."

She pressed her hands against her face, willing herself to continue on, even as panic clawed at her.

"Laura…" She dropped her hands and her head snapped up.

"You need to know, Remington. I _need_ to tell you before he takes what matters most – _us._ It's tearing us apart. You know it, I know it. Hell, even Marcos and Elena know it. So let me do this!" She pressed her fingertips against her forehead, trying to will the headache that was forming away.

"Go on, then," he told her gruffly. His hand tugged through his hair. She wasn't wrong. He needed to know, but it didn't make it any easier to hear, to watch what it was doing to her.

"Sometime the next morning we'd stopped for him to put gas in the car. I managed to convince him to let me use the bathroom. That's where I left the first message. When we got back to the car, he gave me a sandwich to eat, water to drink. I couldn't eat but I was _so thirsty_. This time instead of injecting me, he'd drugged the water. The hallucinations, the nightmares…" She pressed her hands to her face again and shook it hard. "We stopped at another gas station the next day. I don't know when. I left another message. As we were returning to the car, a police car pulled into the station. I tried to get away. He slammed my head into the car and I blacked out. He must have drugged me, because when I came to I was hallucinating again." She turned to look at him, smiled a forlorn smile. "You were with me. I begged you to hold me. Right before you reached me, we were suddenly in Paddington Station." Her breath hitched in her chest and she bit back a sob. "You died in my arms."

 _I'll kill him for doing this to her,_ Remington vowed again, fighting the impulse to go to her. Helplessly, he scrubbed at his face with his hand.

"That night or maybe it was morning, I'm not sure, but it was dark out, he slipped me LSD. Later that morning, or maybe it was the afternoon," she pressed the back of her palm to her forehead and looked skyward, "… it's all so hazy… he did it again. I don't know how long we were hiking before the hallucinations stopped. But when they did, I managed to free myself from the rope he'd tied around me and ran. Found myself trapped at the river. We argued, fought. Then, when he hit me, I fell down the… ravine… cliff? I don't know. I lost consciousness again. I didn't wake up until that morning when you found me. He must have drugged me again, but… I don't think it was LSD or the other drug he'd been giving me. Whatever this was made me feel," her voice cracked, "Safe. Like I was back home with you."

Her face crumbled and she took several deep gulps of air. The panic was closing in around her. Grabbing her middle she leaned against the wall, willing herself to make it through. This time, Remington followed his instincts and strode across veranda, pulling her against him and wrapping his arms firmly around her.

"It's alright, Laura. You don't have to do thi—" She shoved herself away from him forcefully. Backing away from him she shook her head at him.

"You're wrong. I have to do this… for us. Just… give me a minute," she panted. When she began speaking again, he blinked hard, as she veered, seemingly, away from discussing that final day with Roselli.

"I realized very early on, around the time Creighton Phillips passed through our lives, that despite the… undefined… nature of our relationship, you saw me as yours." She laughed softly, sardonically. "There were days that part of you drove me crazy: laying claim to me in your mind, even as you made it clear you could make no promises where we were concerned."

* * *

" _ **I'm not planning on cutting a fast tango through your life and I'm not going to stop wanting you but those are the only guarantees I can give you."**_

* * *

"And, on other days, I found it…comforting… almost… because I'd learned enough from the women that passed through our lives that you'd never laid claim to anyone else before me, in your mind or otherwise." Shaking her head, she tipped her head skyward, pinching the bridge of her nose. "There was a certain amount of… security… in knowing that." Looking over her shoulder, she found he'd leaned his backside against the railing adjacent to where she stood. Hands in pockets, he watched her intently. She looked away from him, then leaned on the railing looking out at the Aegean.

"Like your possessiveness, your jealousy is a very real part of you as well. Not because of some antiquated notion that a woman should remain chaste while a man should… sow his wild oats, for lack of a better term, as he sees fit. But more because the idea of anyone else having me before you did… I don't know… set you off balance. I'd like to think it's because you were worried I'd move on before we ever truly had a chance to find out what it was between us." She gave a soft bark of laughter, when he unknowingly hummed his confirmation of that. Then, as her thoughts moved forward, her hand moved to knead her brow.

"I've used your jealousy against you. That's not easy to admit and I'm not proud of myself for doing it. The only justification I have is that it was the only way I could think of, at times, to make you stand up and take notice to what I was trying to tell you. To make you understand what _I_ needed…" her voice grew soft, "or to make you understand that you'd hurt me. To make you fight for me as I have for you time and time again over the years." She turned to look at him then, pressing her back against the railing as she fingered away the wetness that slid past her lashes.

Remington's gut clenched and he straightened to move to her, until she held up a hand and shook her head at him.

"Let me finish, please." Crossing his arms, he nodded his agreement. Pushing herself away from the railing, she began to walk the edge of the pool, wrapping her arms around herself, seeking to self-comfort. "I always knew that if I went to bed with another man that you'd leave. You'd never be able to understand, to reconcile the fact that I was willing to give myself to someone else even as I continued to refuse you." She covered her face when a sob escaped before she could force it back. "That in your eyes it would have been an unforgiveable betrayal, if for no other reason than I was yours. I suppose, since our relationship was ill-defined, that I should have resented that. I'd even like to say that I did. But in truth," she swiped another tear away, " _I didn't want anyone else_. You were mine, too, whether you realized it or not." She choked on the sob that bubbled up in her throat, then, wiping almost viciously at the tears that fell, forced the sob back down. Remington could only stand and watch with an aching heart and a stomach that churned, waiting to hear what he'd been most afraid of straight along.

"I took a certain amount of pride in the fact that when we finally crossed that line, no man had touched me since we met." She half-laughed, half-sobbed. "A rather Victorian notion, isn't it? Me, 'saving herself' for the man she loved." Her face crumbled. "I didn't know what a giant leap of faith you took coming back home with me after," she choked out the name, "Westfield. I wouldn't have done what I did to you with Roselli if I had known that you knew all along. I need you to know that." Pressing a hand against her stomach, she forced herself to take several deep breaths, calming herself as best she could. Seeing his anguish, needing an escape from her own for the moment, she detoured again.

"Roselli took a lot of things from me. My sense of self. I've always believed I'd be able to take care of myself in any situation. I know that's not true now. I can be overpowered. I can be drugged. I can be shackled to a car." She shuddered. "Hit, dragged around at will. He took away my sense of safety. Knowing that he'd resort to what he did, I know I'll never be safe as long as he's free. He also left a lot behind. Self-doubt. Fear. Shame. Guilt. Self-blame. I invited this psychopath into our lives. I led him on. I used him to hurt you. This is what happened and I'm the one who opened the door to let it in."

"Laura—" She held up her hand again and shook her head.

"Let me finish, please." She took a deep, tremoring breath, before hurrying on. "He took away _us_." She forced herself to turn and look at Remington, needing to see him when she finally revealed the whole of it. "That last morning when I woke up, I thought I was home… in your arms. I didn't know I was hallucinating at the time… _I didn't_." She held her hands over her face, concentrating on calming herself so she could continue. "When I turned over and saw you there, I told you I wanted you. But it wasn't you. I knew as soon as he kissed me, touched me." Unconsciously, her hands clutched at her chest. "I know your taste, your touch, your scent. Know them so well, I feel like they're a part of me." A sob tore loose from her throat, and this time, she didn't fight the tears. What strength she had left, she needed to say the words. "He didn't rape me. He tried that last morning. I fought him. I wouldn't let that happen. But a part of me feels like he did. I feel ashamed… dirty… like I've cheated on you. He touched me where only _your hands_ should ever be. A part of me feels like you'll never be able to hold me again without thinking of him… that you'll blame me for bringing him into our lives, and in the end it will tear us apart."

"A part of me knows it's not logical, not rational," she told him while squeezing the brow of her nose, "I was drugged, hallucinating. I didn't want him to touch me, to even come near me, and as soon as I realized it wasn't you, I fought. In our profession I can't help but know, intellectually, that sexual assault is not the fault of the victim. It's not something she asked for because of clothes she wears, a few dates or even a couple kisses shared. I know that here," she said pressing a palm to either side of her head. "But here," she clasped her hands over her heart, "I blame myself and find myself wondering how long until you do too and walk away."

"The nightmares aren't because, of what happened while I was with him, at least not for the most part. They're of _losing you_. Paddington Station… outside the loft… and now because of that last day." She turned away, unable to look at him. "I love you so much and to have had what we finally do only to lose it now? You once told me we have no choice but to go on when our world falls apart. But I don't think I know how to do that anymore without you." The sobs came in earnest now, and she covered her face, turning away from him as the tears poured.

Remington had had enough, and strode quickly across the veranda, pulling her into her arms.

"My God woman, there are times I don't understand that brilliant mind of yours at all. I'm not going anywhere, Laura." He tightened his arms around her as she pressed her face against his check, then held her even tighter as she shook so violently while she cried he wondered how her injured body could withstand the force without taking her to her knees. " _I'm not going anywhere._ Have you no idea how damned thankful I am to have you back, here, with me?" He turned them so that he leaned against the veranda wall, pulling her between his legs before taking her head and lifting her face so that she was looking at him. " _I do not blame you._ I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of the madman where it belongs." He gave her head a little shake. " _You are mine_. That hasn't changed. He's taken nothing from us. Do you understand?" She nodded her head, her sobs reducing to quiet hiccups. He looked down at his tear soaked shirt. "Now my shirt, that I may hold you responsible for. Really, love, try to remember our wardrobes are rather limited at the moment."

Laura snorted softly then folded herself back into his arms.

"You're mine, Laura," he repeated again quietly, stroking her hair as he felt her fingers clench against his back. "Had he… done the worst… you would _still_ be mine." He breathed out a staccato sigh. "It sometimes seems I've waited my entire life for you, for what we have. I'll not let it go so easily. Do you understand?" He felt her nod, and clutched her even tighter to him.

With a final shudder, the tears stopped flowing. Resting his chin on top of her head, he closed his eyes, willing his own tears back. He felt as though they'd again been on the edge of losing everything, only to find a reprieve once more. His hands gripped her hair and nudged her head back. His lips trailed along her cheek, eyes, then other cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears.

She couldn't stop the shiver that passed through her body. Her hands gripped his upper arms, before one stole into his hair. She gave his neck a soft tug, opening her eyes to meet his. "Rem…" she murmured. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he stroked it with his thumb. She winced at the contact and drew in a sharp breath. Tipping her chin up with a single finger, he chuckled lightly.

"We need to get you out of the sun, Mrs. Steele, before you do a rather impressive rendition of the commedia dell'arte mask," he remarked. He cast a look at his watch. "And if memory serves me, you have a repeat performance with Dr. Papadopoulos a little over an hour from now." At her sour look, he laughed while releasing her, then wrapped a hand around hers giving it a little tug.

"It hardly seems fair, Mr. Steele, that I'm here in Greece and should have to spend all my time being poked and prodded in doctors' offices," she griped.

"Not doctors, doctor, as in singular. And I hardly think a visit nearly five days past then again today qualifies as 'all your time'," he pointed out, amused.

"I don't see why I have to go back when you don't have to," she groused further, while jabbing at his arm with a finger.

"Because, as you have enjoyed pointing out across the years and again just a few days past, I am not the overachiever that you, yourself are. Time is the only cure for cracked ribs, where as _you_ have provided the doctor with a cornucopia of ailments on which to focus." She wrinkled her nose at him but said nothing further on the matter. He bussed her on the cheek when they reached the upper level of the terrace where Elena and Marcos still sat. "Why don't you go get ready for the appointment, whilst I shanghai Elena's kitchen and make us a spot of lunch, eh?"

"It better be more than 'a spot'. I'm famished," she warned him playfully. Wrapping his arms around her, he gave her a gentle hug.

"Ah, a very good sign." He closed his eyes as she pressed her lips against his cheek, then opened them to watch as she strolled… well, clomp-strolled… into the house. With a swipe at his mouth with his hand, he turned to Marcos. "I owe you an apology…" he began.

"That you know you do is enough," Marcos told him. Remington nodded his head gratefully before turning to Elena.

"Elena, might I take over your kitchen for a short time to make Laura and I something to eat before her appointment?" Elena stood and patted his cheek with a hand.

"Of course," she answered. He shifted on his feet, bringing a smile to her face. She always knew when her Xenos wanted something. "Just ask, Xenos," she prompted him.

With a toothy smile that lit up his face, he shared what he had in mind.


	34. Chapter 34: Ioseph's Antics

Laura wore a wide smile when she and Remington left the office of Dr. Papadopoulos. While the clunky boot would remain until she could see and orthopedic surgeon when they returned to LA she'd been released from his care on all other regards, although he had provided a series of exercises for her shoulder that had to be completed twice daily. Although the doctor would have preferred to send her to Crete where she could receive the attentions of a physical therapist, aware that the couple were currently under the protection of the Androkus family, the best he'd been able to do was obtain a list of exercises for her.

Laura's attention was drawn to the front seat of the car when Christos barked out an amused laugh then turned around to give the cat that at the canary look to his brother.

"I see Mama has shown you no mercy despite recent events," Christos taunted Remington. Remington shifted uncomfortably in his seat while giving his brother a murderous look.

Laura watched the interplay between the two men with curiosity, wondering what it was about. Turning, she looked out the window and watched as the car turned into the parking lot of Saint Nicolaus Peramataris. She laid questioning eyes on her husband, who avoided her eyes with diligence.

"Why are we at Church?" she inquired. Remington opened his mouth then closed it again, as Christos guffawed in the front seat.

"It would be my guess that Mama has commanded the two of you to attend Confession with Ioseph," he provided with no small amount of glee.

"She has?" Laura asked, more than a bit baffled. She looked at her husband again. "Remington?" He sighed and tugged at his ear before looking fully at her.

"I believe the last time we were here in Greece, I told you Elena has managed, without fail, to get me into the Confessional with Ioseph each time I've paid a visit," he pointed out.

"Have you done something that requires confession?" she asked as Christos gave him an amused smirk. Remington rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Not that I can think of," he answered. When that thought fully sank in, his face lit with a smile. "Not that I can think of," he repeated. "Suddenly I find myself looking forward to this little interchange between Ioseph and I. Shall we, Mrs. Steele?"

"I'll wait here," she answered, then watched as he rubbed the back of his neck again. Her brows furrowed. "I _will_ wait here, _right_?" Christos laughed merrily in the front seat. " _Mr. Steele?_ "

"Uh, Laura," he hedged then dove headlong into an explanation, "If you recall a certain dinner one evening last summer, it was made quite clear that Elena directs all family members to the confessional so that Ioseph may extract his pound of flesh." Laura's eyes narrowed at him, then suddenly opened wide as she groaned.

"And because you and I are married…" She shook her head, then straightened her shoulders. "Let's get this over with then." Relieved, Remington opened the door and after from alighting from the car, offered his hand to her. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he traced his thumb back and forth in a manner that her blood heating. Trying to appear nonchalant, she took a step away from him, and drew that hand into her own, lacing their fingers. The smug smirk she caught out of the corner of her eyes told her he knew precisely the reaction she'd had to his touch. Laughing, she shook her head and gave a roll of her eyes as they entered the sanctuary.

"Ah, Xenos," Ioseph greeted, "Good to see you've arrived promptly. I've an appointment with a bed bound parishioner in an hour and imagine it will take nearly all of that time to give proper attention to the transgressions you've committed since last we met."

"Ioseph, how nice to see that you've lost your blood thirst when it comes to family members," Remington responded with a glower, drawing Ioseph's laughter before he turned his attention to both of them.

"We can take the traditional route of the confessional, or since you are family, we can approach it much like we did the last time," Ioseph offered, secretly hoping they'd choose the latter so he could play them off of one another and extract the most information. Laura and Remington glanced at one another.

"Together's fine," Laura answered for them.

"Let's make ourselves comfortable in my office then, shall we?" After escorting them to his office and allowing them to get settled, he pulled a chair up in front of them and sat. Leaning elbows against knee, he rubbed his hands together as he centered his attention on Remington. "Tell me Cousin, what transgressions have you committed for which you seek absolution in the four months since your last confession?" Remington gave a careless shrug.

"Not a thing that I can think of." Ioseph sat back in his chair and looked with consternation at him.

"I've come to expect many things of you across the years, Xenos, but this? To violate the sanctity of confession?" Remington could only hold his hands palms up and drop them again.

"I honestly can't think of a thing," he told him truthfully. "You've my wife to blame for that. She's rather insistent that I trod the straight and narrow should I wish to remain in her good graces." He swung his head around to look at said wife at her snort of amusement. "Can _you_ think of anything I've done since last I was here that would require penance?" he challenged her.

Pursing her lips, she searched her mind. She looked at him, her eyes widening in surprise as she lifted her hands and then dropped them, mimicking his gesture of only moments before. "No, I can't."

"And as for yourself, Laura?" Ioseph queried. Again, she lifted her hands and dropped them.

"I think I'm worried, Mr. Steele…" she pondered aloud. He raised a brow of curiosity towards her. "Have we lost our touch? Four months and we haven't lifted a painting, 'borrowed' a car, broken into a bank… nothing?" He scratched at his chin, considering her concerns.

"Well, we did break into Astrid Covington's house to retrieve the jewels—"

"Theft. Ah, I knew you were being—" Ioseph interrupted, only to have Remington wave him away and continue on as if he'd never spoken.

"That has to count for something. We did a rather remarkable job, finding the jewels as we did," he pointed out to Laura.

"Yes, but in four months? That's it? _Four months?_ " she lamented. He frowned at her concern.

"Things have been rather heavy on the security side of things since we returned from our honeymoon," he agreed.

"I don't want to sit behind a desk, Remington. I want to be out pursuing leads, chasing down suspects with you… I want a nice juicy murder, damn it."

"Laura, your language if you don't mind," Ioseph scolded, "You are—"

"For Christ's sake, Ioseph, can you just give us a moment, please?" Remington cut him off.

"Using God's name in vain, now are we, Xenos?" Ioseph clucked at him. "Thea Elena will be most dis—"

"Ioseph," Remington barked, "We both know you'll find a way to hang each of us with at least fifty Hail Mary's and Our Father's a piece whether there is cause or not, so please, may I address my wife and _partner's_ concerns without your constant interruptions?" Ioseph frowned at him, and Remington could almost hear him thinking ' _I'm going to tell Thea Elena on you,_ ' as he'd done constantly when they were children. Disregarding him, he returned his focus to Laura. "I'm sure it's just a temporary anomaly, love, and that after the holiday's pass we'll find ourselves knee deep in any number of nefarious plots. Timing couldn't be better, if you ask me. I certainly would prefer to chase a mystery with you than Mildred," he teased, giving a pointed look at her ankle. She laughed, as he'd hoped she would.

"That's good to know," she told him, flashing a pair of dimples his way. "Now, where were we?" Her brow furrowed then cleared. "Oh, that's right, we can't recall anything that would require repentance." She glanced at Ioseph. "Well, except for that little matter of breaking into Covington's. Oh, and that little matter of what you just said."

"And what was that?" he husband asked, feigning innocence.

"For…" she laughed and shook her head. "Uh uh. I'm not falling for it, Mr. Steele. There's no way Ioseph is going to hang more penance on me for repeating what you said." He shook his head at her, pretending to be disappointed.

"You take all the fun out of confession, Mrs. Steele." Her smile only widened as she shrugged carelessly at him.

"So, Ioseph, are we done here?" Remington asked, finally returning his attention to his cousin.

"Until supper Sunday evening, it would seem that we are," Ioseph said, casting him a smug look, confirming Remington's earlier suspicions.

As they walked out of the church, Laura grumbled under her breath, much to her husband's amusement.

"Really, Laura, I don't know why you're surprised. I'd not five minutes before said that Ioseph would find a reason to hang a stiff penance upon us," Remington reminded her. She glowered at him in response.

"It would seem to me that he has overstepped his bounds," she groused. "We did one thing, _one thing_ … well, you two… and we get fifty each?"

"That's considered kind when it comes to Ioseph and family," he tried to placate her. Her look only darkened. "As I tol—" Laura stopped in her tracks and turned to him, hands planted on hips.

"Remington Chalmers Steele, if you say anything remotely like 'I told you so' one more time, I promise, this boot will come in very handy, even if your toes might not appreciate the reason why." She watched as he smiled from ear-to-ear, while shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling from foot-to-foot. "Oh, hell," she groaned aloud. She'd forgotten momentarily that the use of his full name guaranteed he'd forget about all else but the pleasure of hearing it. Pulling him to her, he wrapped his arms around her and bussed her head as he chuckled lightly.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Steele, I wouldn't dare attempt to sooth your righteous indignation by even _suggesting_ that I'd forewarned you of what was to come." His face contorted, and he reached for his foot as a boot came down on it.

"Can't say I didn't warn you, _Mr. Steele,_ " she told him with a smirk, before she turned and walked the rest of the way to the car by herself. He glared after her, his lips drawing into a thin line, then hobbled behind her.

Sliding into the backseat, he crossed his arms and averted his head from her. In the front seat, Christos, who had seen the assault upon Remington's foot, guffawed loudly.

"Seems you don't find it nearly as amusing when a shoe lands on your own foot as when it landed on mine, big brother," he mocked. Without thought, Remington popped Christos in the back of the head.

"Keep it up, Chris, and you'll find you've much more to worry about than a shoe in the foot," Remington warned.

"It's been a while since we've gone a couple rounds, it could be amusing," Christos ventured.

"Perhaps next visit. Even I'm not so foolish as to step into a ring with cracked ribs," Remington declined.

"Maybe Helena and I will pay Los Angeles a visit," Christos mused.

"It just so happens there is a boxing gym I frequent every now and again. I'm sure we could secure some ring time, should you do so."

"I wonder if I might be able to corral Mama and Melina into watching the children for Helena and I to take a little holiday," he mused.

"Should you, you're more than welcome to stay with us. Isn't that correct, Miss Holt?" Laura mentally scrunched up her face, his use of 'Miss Holt' a sure sign that he was put out with her.

"Of course, anytime," she agreed, stealing a glance at Remington and noting he'd not looked at her when he'd posed the question. _Damn, an apology might be in order._

When they pulled up to the front of the house, Remington offered a hand and helped her from the car. His casual move to brush a non-existent piece of lint from his sleeve, neatly dodging the hand that reached for his, confirmed her suspicions, as did the words he spoke next.

"Why don't you go take a lie-down," he suggested, bussing her on the top of the head. "I'm sure there will be plans in the making for the evening and it will more than likely be a late night." Such a suggestion would normally be guaranteed to make her irritable, but truth be told, after the emotional tsunami of that morning, coupled with her still healing body and the errands run, she was on the tired side, as much as she hated to admit it. She tilted her head, considering him at length.

"Care to join me?" she proffered. His low hum in the back of his throat picked up her sagging spirits.

"Mmmmm. I'll be along shortly. I've a couple of matters to attend to. Shouldn't be long." He touched his lips to hers then watched as she made her way down the hallway to their room. Only once the bedroom door closed behind her and Alex took his place standing sentry, did he continue on towards the kitchen. There, he pulled a basin from under the sink and filled it with water than a hefty portion of ice. Seating himself at the dining room table, he slowly pulled off his shoe and sock to examine his foot, confirming his suspicion that two toes were already turning an interesting shade of blue. With a quick intake of breath, he shoved his foot into the freezing water. Christos's bemused laughter sounded behind him, before he crossed the room to sit at the table as well.

"Seems you don't find it as amusing when a foot lands atop your own as you do when it does mine," Christos jested again. "Do you find yourself at the wrong end of her food often, then?"

"Not as much since our first year together. Either I've become more adept at not incurring her displeasure or have become more fleet of foot, though I suspect it is the latter," Remington grimaced while giving his toes a test wiggle.

"I can assure you, I'll not be putting her in Ioseph's sites anytime soon again. It was a lesson well-taught. What precisely had you done today to encourage such tutelage?" Remington flashed him a wry look.

"I believe I used some form of 'I told you so' one time too many in regards to Ioseph's need to saddle family members with hefty penance," he laughed.

"Ahhhhhh, Ioseph. Known to inspire frustration in many a family member in his zeal to save our darkened souls. What did he serve the two of you up?"

"Fifty each a piece, even though we could only come up with one thing between the two of us that might be viewed as requiring reconciliation." He scratched the tip of his nose in though. "Although I think Laura and I might both debate that as it was done in the course of greater good."

"Seems to me you fared well. Our cousin handed me two-hundred fifty each after Zeth tossed me into the fires your last visit. And be certain Mama stood watch to make sure I did every last bit of them," he huffed. Leaning back in his chair, he turned pensive. "There was something different about the two of you, today, in the limo. Has she told you then?" Remington glanced up at him in surprise then back down at his foot as he gave the toes another wiggle.

"Hmmmm," he hummed in answer.

"How…" Christos cleared his throat and tried again. "How bad?" Remington studied the man, then sat up, running a hand through his hair before propping elbow on table and resting chin on hand.

"Bad enough. Drugged often. Beaten. Tethered like an animal. Terrorized." He took a deep breath and let it out. "Knocked off the edge of a cliff." Christos's fist clenched and his jaw twitched.

"Did he…?" Remington shook his head.

"Tried, but she fought him off." Remington lifted his eyes and looked determinably at Christos. "Should I get my hands on the man…" He left the thought open to interpretation.

"I hope to stand beside you when you do," Christos vowed vehemently. Remington carefully removed his foot from the basin, then stood, slapping Christos on the shoulder.

"And I thank you for that. It's time for me to join my wife should the nightmares invade her sleep." Leaning down, he reached for the basin.

"Leave it. I'll take care of it. Go to Laura."

Remington gave him a nod of gratitude then crossed the house to their bedroom, giving Alex a nod as he passed. Closing the door behind him, he quietly slipped into bed next to Laura. Curled up on her side, he prepared to lay an arm across her waist when he remembered what she'd told him that morning.

' _ **When I turned over and saw you there…'**_

Along with it came the memory of her hysteria on the plane when she'd awakened to him spooned against her, his arm wrapped around her. His hand moved to her shoulder instead, his fingers moving firmly, comfortingly from shoulder to wrist. She rolled to face him with bleary eyes. He held an arm out to her, leaving her wriggling forward to rest her head on his arm and press her cheek against his chest. Arms wrapped around one another they slept, nightmares kept at bay.


	35. Chapter 35: Tranquility

Laura woke Remington at twilight, as she stretched with catlike grace while still held snugly against him in his arms. He smiled when she nuzzled her cheek against his chest, settling in again, even as his body ached with the need to feel her skin-to-skin. The last ten days had been, by far, the longest they'd gone without making love since they'd crossed that line. He'd once thought the four years bordered on torture at times, but now those days held no compare. It was one thing to dream of loving her, it was quite another to know exactly how it felt to love her tenderly, endlessly through the night. Tamping down his desire, he focused on stroking her hair, easing her fully into wakefulness.

Tilting back her head, his breath stilled when he saw desire burning in those amber eyes. Touching his lips to hers, he bussed the top of her head, then rolled from the bed, wincing when he took to his feet. Strolling casually towards their balcony, he feigned a long stretch. _The woman's nothing short of remarkable,_ he thought to himself, then turned to dazzle Laura with a bright smile. Striding to the bed, he held out a hand to her. Puzzled, she took it, and followed him out onto the balcony.

Laura blinked her eyes several times, then slowly spun around. Sometime while they'd slept, the terrace had been completely transformed. Pots filled with hyacinths and gladiolus, their wedding flowers, lined the wall of the balcony. The al fresco table had been covered with a white linen table cloth, and set with fine china and Waterford champagne flutes. Candelabras were scattered across the balcony, white candles waiting to be lit. Tucked away in the corner of the balcony, a radio played golden oldies. She turned and tilted her head, giving him a questioning look. Lifting her hand, he pressed lips to palms.

"A belated anniversary celebration, love. As of four days ago we've been quite officially wed for four months," he reminded her. Moist eyes glistened with joy.

"I hadn't realized…" He nodded.

"We've had other things on our minds. But tonight we think about only the four glorious months we've shared." Lifting her chin with a single finger, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "Would you care to dance, Mrs. Steele?" She looked down at her feet.

"No insisting that I put on the boot?" she asked. He chuckled lightly.

"I think we can forgo it for the evening," he answered, tugging her to him and drawing a laugh from her. She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, before lightly clasping her arms around his neck. They swayed softly to _I'm in the Mood For Love._

"Dorothy Lamour," he murmured. "Brings back memories." He lay a hand against her cheek, his thumb stroking it until her eyes met his.

"Of the rather…stunning… speech you gave at the Hollywood Archives?"

"Mmmm mmmm," he denied, "More along the lines of what you said to me after it became apparent someone was after me, not Lamour, Mayo or Nolan."

ABCABCABCABCABC

' _ **Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to Remington Steele. Yours, mine or ours.'**_

ABCABCABCABCABCABC

"I believe that may have been the first time you either acknowledged that this name was far more than a role to me, attributing to me some form of ownership of it, or recognized that we'd built something together that could be termed 'ours.'" His lips covered hers, teasing her, until he felt the shiver he was seeking to pass through her. "It was the first time that I was able to truly believe we might get past your decision in Cannes," he added, covering her lips with his again before she could retort.

The corners of her lips lifted underneath his as she remembered the time he referred to. She had regretted her Cannes ultimatum almost immediately, but determinably stuck by it, too stubborn in her own right to admit she'd been wrong. If she hadn't realized it yet, Malta Margaret would certainly have been a wakeup call. When she'd once again made it patently clear that things between them would remain business only, he'd allowed himself to be swayed by the murderous minx. The possibility that he'd slept with the woman had left her alternately lit with jealousy and thoroughly forlorn that she may have overplayed her hand and in the process he'd given up. That she'd brought along a sexy little number that she'd hoped would entice him to find a way to end the Cannes agreement and he'd never so much as acknowledged it with even a flick of his eyes certainly hadn't helped the matter.

So, a week later, as they'd sat there on his couch, an old movie playing on the television, it had felt enough like the evenings of years' past that she'd tried again. She'd meant every word she'd said to him. No one would harm him under her watch, no one. When she leaned in to kiss him on his cheek, she allowed herself to let him see that more would be welcomed. He'd been uncertain, nervous. But when his eyes met hers, he'd leaned in to kiss her… only to vault from the couch as a news item put together all the clues in his mind. She'd damned the newscaster endlessly across the next several weeks.

Her fingers tightened around his neck and a hand slid over his shoulder to caress his chest as she parted her lips under his, challenging him to thoroughly explore her mouth. She wanted to taste his rich, heady flavor, to feel his tongue slide against hers, to dance with hers. That he was wholly hers now and she could relax into these moments was still a fairly new concept to her, one that she… treasured. She answered his hum of pleasure at the invitation with one of her own. A shiver coursed through her body when his fingers tangled in her hair to massage her scalp. She laughed softly when she felt his lips lift in a smile under hers at her reaction to his touch. He tore his lips away from hers with a small gasp, and looked at her askance.

"My kissing you draws your laughter now, does it?" he asked, pretending to be wounded.

"More your reaction to my reaction to your kiss draws my laughter," she answered, smiling up at him, as her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Caught that, did you?" he laughed.

"Mmm hmm," she hummed her acknowledgment. "Quite pleased with yourself, were you?" He touched his lips against hers before letting a smile lift his lips.

"To know that my wife's body can't disguise its pleasure at what I do? Mmmmm," he hummed himself this time. "Does a husband's heart good."

"Not to mention his ego," she volleyed back.

"There is that," he admitted. He tangled the fingers of a hand with her own, tilting his head forward to press his forehead against hers. "I'd say we're doing fairly well at this marriage thing, Mrs. Steele. Would you agree?"

"I'd say we're doing very well at this marriage _'thing'_ , Mr. Steele," she agreed. "Even when I'd dream of this, I never imagined it to be quite like this." He lifted his head to look down at her, a thousand watt smile lighting his face.

"You'd dreamed of this?" he queried. She dropped her head to lean her forehead against his chest and scrunched up her face, knowing she'd not only stroked his ego, but had given him the upper hand. _Damn and double damn,_ she berated herself. She was mortified she'd let the admission slip and a little more than a bit put out with herself for allowing it. A finger under her chin nudged it upwards until her eyes met his. "Laura?" She averted her eyes, and tried to tuck her head back down against his chest, but his fingers held firm. _Ahhhh, welcome back shy Miss Holt, it's been a while._ "Don't hide from me, love," he urged. Her eyes met his and she sighed deeply.

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"Often?" he pressed his luck. She sighed again.

"Often enough to find it disconcerting." She'd said the last in such a way that he knew she'd yield to no further questioning, thus allowed her to tuck her head back down against his chest. Drawing himself up, he made a confession of his own. _Tit-for-tat,_ he thought to himself.

"Too bad I'd no idea, or you'd have found that ring on your finger far sooner," he told her quietly. Her head snapped back and she looked at him, mouth agape. With a soft chuckle, he closed her mouth with a nudge of a finger against her chin.

"Are you serious?" she asked, thoroughly flummoxed by both his willing admission and its content.

"I believe I've made it abundantly clear previously that I'd had your ring made long before I placed it on your hand," he pointed out, bemused. She considered this, then sent him a sly glance.

"When did you decide to commission the ring?" He chuckled inwardly, knowing she was hoping to at last pry that information from him. That he'd already decided to share that little tidbit with her, made her insatiable curiosity all the more amusing.

"Don't you know?" he couldn't help but tease. She shot him an exasperated look.

"One of these days, Mr. Steele," she huffed. He couldn't help but laugh aloud this time before turning serious.

"I'd begun toying with the design right after we'd returned from San Francisco, but had no earthly idea how I'd make you come 'round to where my mind had traipsed. Frankly, the idea terrified me, making it a near certainty that you'd run hard and fast if you'd had any idea," he touched his lips to the tip of her nose. "I could no longer envision my future without you playing a part in it… a rather large part. By the time we'd returned from London, I knew there was no choice left but to find a way to sway you to my way of thinking." Laura shook her head, mouth agape again, considering him at length, trying to determine the veracity of what he was saying. Seeing the earnest sincerity in his eyes, she was left dumbfounded.

"You hid your intentions very well, Mr. Steele," she said, speaking the first, safe words that came to mind.

"Yes, well we were both rather verse at hiding from one another, weren't we, Mrs. Steele?" he challenged. "I couldn't very well raise the bet when there was every chance you'd quit the table, now could I?"

"You could have called," she pointed out, stroking his shoulder with a hand.

"And have you fold? No, it seemed to me the stakes were too high." She looked at him puzzled.

"The stakes?"

"Having you in any manner you'd allow or not having you at all." Not wishing to discuss the matter further, he leaned down to kiss her. She pulled away.

"Why did you—" His lips covered hers again. She laughed against his lips, knowing that he was attempting to distract her. When his hand found her hair, he managed to do exactly that. When he withdrew he tucked her back against his body, as the first strands of Etta's James "At Last" became to play.

"A fitting song for us, Mrs. Steele," he whispered against her ear.

 _ **At last my love has come along  
My lonely days are over and life is like a song, oh yeah  
At last the skies above are blue  
My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you  
I found a dream that I could speak to  
A dream that I can call my own  
I found a thrill to press my cheek to  
A thrill I've never known, oh yeah  
You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast  
And here we are in Heaven  
For you are mine at last**_

She lifted her head and liquid, emotion laden eyes met his before she tugged his head down to feel his lips against hers again. The kiss never deepened, soft lips meeting soft lips to touch, taste, sink into. When the song ended, so too did the kiss. Laura slipped her arms around his shoulders, ignoring the tug of the sore arm, to press her lips against his neck. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, reveling in the sensation before he pulled away. He stepped back only to move close and touch his lips to hers again, before stepping away a final time.

"Dinner awaits," he told her, escorting her to the table. "But first, a toast." Remington poured them each a glass of champagne, handing Laura hers. "To us," he offered simply, still drawing a soft smile across her lips.

"To us." With a tap of their glasses, they twined arms in their traditional lover's toast. Retrieving their plates from the warmer, he lifted the dome plate covers to reveal the fair.

"Canard au vin rouge. But how? When did you—"

"I didn't," he interrupted, while his hand reached for hers and his thumb stroked her rings.

"Elena," she speculated.

"Elena. I merely asked for her assistance. Now how she managed do to all this while we slept right there? That's the true mystery." They both laughed.

While they ate, they discussed the new house, furnishings that still needed purchasing, and when they would list the condo for rental. Soon they were reminiscing about times past. Laura reached over and tangled her fingers with his.

"Do you ever wonder what you would be doing right at this moment if we hadn't met?" she asked. Remington released her hand and cleared the plates from the table.

"I imagine much as I was before we met: Still living the life, not staying much of anywhere very long, always looking over my shoulder, wondering when Interpol would catch up with me." He caught her look of surprise when he returned to the table.

"You don't think you would have left that life if we hadn't met?" She'd been stunned by his easy honesty, having seriously believed he'd attempt to dodge the question even as she'd posed it. He set the single slice of cheese cake topped with dark chocolate ganache and raspberries between them. He looked her in the eye as he moved his chair to sit next to her.

"Very few every leave the life, Laura. Monroe and I are quite the exceptions. It's not as easy as you may think to leave it behind."

"The expeditious inflation of your bank account?" He frowned.

"I am sure there is that for some. For me it was that rush you've felt a time or two yourself, as well as the satisfaction of knowing I could work my way around the most sophisticated of systems in the world to claim what I was after." Slicing through the cake with a fork, he held it out for her. smiling as she closed her eyes and hummed with pure pleasure. "Meets your approval I take it?" he laughed.

"It's incredible. Taste it." A wicked grin spread across his face as he set down the fork and leaned toward her.

"Don't mind if I do," he whispered against her lips, before sliding a hand into her hair and nudging her head forward. He plundered for a long minute, taking great satisfaction in the merriment dancing in her eyes when he pulled away. "Absolutely delicious," he murmured gruffly. Laura's gales of laughter trickled across the moonlit balcony.

"When will I learn?" she laughed questioningly. Remington raised a brow at her.

"For my sake, I hope never," he grinned, before lifting another bite to her mouth.

"Do you ever regret your decision to give it up?" She slanted him a sly look. "Not that you've gone completely 'cold turkey', mind you."

"Laura…" he growled warningly at her, before he tugged at an ear, a slight frown furrowing his brows. "I'd be lying if I said there weren't times I have, most notably when it seemed the reason I stayed would never come to its fruition. In our work I get a bit of that rush, that sense of accomplishment, yet it's not quite the same. Still," he said, pausing for another taste of cake and Laura, "having what we do now, I'd have to say it was the wisest decision I've ever made."

She plopped ungracefully back in her seat and stared at him. "I don't know what to do with all this honesty and openness in one setting, Mr. Steele," she exclaimed.

"Consider it an anniversary gift." His lips quirked upwards. "And if you wished to reciprocate, I wouldn't be opposed," he hinted.

"What would I be doing?" she asked in surprise. She gave it considerable thought as she ate the latest piece of cake lifted to her mouth by her husband. "I don't know," she answered honestly and with no little wonderment. "Still working as a private detective, certainly, but I can't even picture what the Agency would have been like. I think Murphy would have still moved on since his feelings for me weren't reciprocated and Bernice, as well, because of Jason. There wouldn't be a Mildred without you to trail to Mexico. I couldn't just bring in associates when there was no elusive 'Remington Steele' to present to them. I really have no idea…"

"And personally?" he ventured. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Do you mean do I think I'd be married with the expected 2.3 kids and a dog?" She lifted her hands and dropped them. "I don't know, but somehow I doubt it. I wasn't exactly looking for any of that."

"Regrets?" This time it was her brows that furrowed at the question.

"I think I told you a long time ago that my life was easier in many ways before we met, but far more interesting since."

"Evading the question, Miss Holt?" he asked, somehow disappointed that she'd chosen to dance her way around the question in her typical fashion.

"That obvious, huh?" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright. There are a couple of things I would change, if I could, but to get to where we are now? I'd do it all over again, without hesitation." The smile that lit his face and eyes was worth every bit of the discomfort the admission had brought her. The kiss they shared after made her wonder if she admitted to again, if the same results would be found. Instead she dug a fingernail into the palm of her hand in an effort to squelch a yawn. Her ever-observant husband, of course, didn't fail to miss the effort. He brushed a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Tired, love?" She gave him a disgruntled little smile.

"I don't know why I should be given we napped part of the afternoon away, but I am." He glanced at his watch, his brows lifting in surprise when he saw it was nearing ten. _Where has the time gone,_ he wondered, then glancing at the woman sitting next to him decided there was no one better to lose time with. Standing, he held out a hand then pulled her up.

"Go get ready for bed, love. I'll just clean up here." With a nod and a buss on his cheek, she went into the bedroom to gather a change of panties, one of his pajama tops and a robe before heading to the bathroom to shower.

Remington made quick work of gathering the plates and stemware and taking them to the kitchen, only to be shooed away by Elena when he settled in to clean them.

"Go," she told him with a wave of her hand, "Celebrate your anniversary. I will take care of these." Placing a quick kiss on her cheek, he returned to the balcony.

Table and chairs returned to the corner of the balcony where they normally sat, he returned to the bedroom to pull the comforter and top sheet from the bed, setting them aside, before tugging the mattress off the foundation. Hauling it out to the balcony, leaving himself a bit breathless in the process, he lay it down before retrieving the bedding. Grabbing boxers and pajama bottoms, he crept into the bathroom and stripped down, then joined his wife in the shower. Sufficiently distracting Laura with a number of kisses so that he could complete his ablution without her departing, they left the bathroom and returned to their room amid much comfortable laughter.

Laura stutter-stepped when they entered the room. She cast a querulous look at Remington.

"I seem to recall a bed here only thirty minutes ago." She turned to face him. "What's going on?" Rather than answering he took her by the hand and led her to the patio. Seeing the mattress and bedding laid out, only raised more questions in her mind. "Remington?"

"We're going to try something a little different tonight, to see if we can dispel those nightmares of yours as Marcos suggested when we first arrived." She watched as he shifted nervously from foot-to-foot.

"And what exactly is that?" she asked as she bent over and peeled back the comforter and sheet before sitting down on the mattress. He slid in next to her on the bed wordlessly, then stretching out an arm waited for her to curl into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Only once the sheet and comforter were tucked around them did he answer.

"I'm going to give you a dream to chase away the nightmares," he answered, his voice hesitant. He was fairly certain he was more nervous at the moment than he was the night he'd asked her to marry him, officially, of course. Laura propped herself up on her shoulder and looked down at him.

"You are?" Having her watch him was more than he could withstand, jittery nerves and all, so he nudged her back down.

"I am. Pick a year in the future: one, two, five, ten, fifty," he instructed. Eyes widening with curiosity, she gave it some consideration.

"Two," she supplied. She could feel his chest rise as he took a deep breath.

"Home or work?" he queried. Brows drawing together as she grew more perplexed, she tried to rise to look at him but his arm held her firm to his side.

"Alright… home." She felt, but couldn't see the nod of his head. She could, however, feel his tension. She waited him out to see where he was going with this.

He swiped a hand at a mouth that suddenly felt filled with cotton. _Bloody hell,_ he thought to himself, _this is worse than when I asked her to marry me. Rather hard to give her a dream when I'm absolutely terrified it will send her skittish self into a tizzy._ At that thought, he laughed quietly. Releasing a puff of air, he began.

"You'd stayed home from work having caught the flu some days before and had been quite irritable for just about as long as you couldn't shake it. You were more than a bit put out with me after days of my demanding that you see a doctor. You fought me, tooth and nail, but eventually I came out on top threatening to carry you in there personally if that's what it took. You stormed out on the way to your appointment that morning in a fine fit of temper, slamming the front door behind you in case I had any doubt what you thought about my high handedness." He considered her quiet laugh a good thing, giving him the courage to forge on.

"That evening when I returned from the office, I found you outside by the fire, cup of tea in hand, lost in your thoughts." He closed his eyes, remembering the dream himself, remembering the joy he felt in the moments ahead. "I sat, anxiously awaiting the blistering that was sure to follow. Instead, you turned to me and said, 'Don't make any vacation plans for late February or early March, Mr. Steele.' Puzzled, as that as not at all what I was expecting, I asked you why. 'Because from what Dr. Miller told me this morning, our baby will be due around February nineteenth.'" He heard Laura's soft gasp from where her head rested on his shoulder. "You looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes, gauging my reaction. Rendered speechless by the news, I could only pull you up out of your chair and hold you close, while I tried to digest that this woman who gave me a home, a name, a profession, was now also giving to me what I'd wanted my entire life – a family." He let out a shuddering breath, remembering all too well how he'd felt when this dream would come, and it had come many a time over the course of the last year. Laura reached up and threaded a hand through his hair while he collected himself. A couple minutes passed before he was able to speak again.

"For the next eight months I had the distinct honor of watching your body change as you nurtured our child within it, your breasts swelling first then your stomach." His fingers trailed along her stomach, mimicking an action often made during the dreams. "At nights when we would lay stretched out before the fire, we no longer drank champagne. Instead I would lay propped next to your stomach and tell our child how very lucky he or she was to have you as their mommy and promising that they would never know what it was like to grow up without a parent, mother or father or both, because we would be there every day of their life. It was in front of that fire that we felt our child's first kick, together."

Laura smiled, then ran her hand over his arm until she found his hand. Linking their fingers together, she tucked their joined hands up next to her cheek.

"Of course, you and I had to argue, playfully, about whether our child would be a boy or a girl, you demanding a boy, me insisting on a girl with her mother's beautiful eyes. But we agreed on two things absolutely: First, we didn't want to know if our child was a boy or a girl until they were born, believing that life held very few pure surprises and that was one of them. And secondly, that our child would have a name long before they came into the world, so they would never know what it was like having spent even a moment in life not knowing who they were."

Laura squeezed his hand, understanding.

"The day the baby was born, I held your hand as you labored, occasionally having to duck a few attempted blows upon my person as you blamed me for what you were going through…"

Laura laughed. "Seems only fair to me," she suggested quietly.

"…and we watched our daughter come into the world together, heard her first cry together, and touched her for the first time…together." Her fingers tightened around his, as she could almost envision his dream in her mind.

"A daughter," she breathed.

"…with beautiful brown eyes that stole my heart the moment I saw her. She was born with a head full of her mommy's brown hair, and you could already see the dimples on her cheeks." He bussed her on the top of the head. "That evening, I curled up in the bed with you, and held you in my arms, as we talked about our dreams for our daughter, for us, for our family. The nurse came in bringing her back from the nursery, hungry and wanting her mommy. I held you both in my arms as you nursed her, and as I watched the two of you together I knew something as absolute as how I feel for you."

Laura, mesmerized, lifted her head and caught his eyes with her own, then softly asked "What was that?"

"That with the vast exception of the day I met her mother, there would never be, could never be, a moment in my life that I cherished more." She bit her lip as the corners lifted upwards, before lying her head back down on his chest.

"What was her name? And please don't tell me you expect us to tag our child with a cinematic moniker," she warned.

"And what is wrong with names such Audrey, Katharine, Ingrid or Vivien? They all have such class… such illustrious predecessors, such—"

"Mr. Steele," she drawled warningly, drawing a laugh and another buss on the head.

"She was named after the most supportive woman of your childhood and the only woman in my childhood that mourned the loss of me." He allowed her the time to mull, knowing she'd come up with the answer on her own.

"Olivia Elena," she said breathily.

"Mmmmm," he hummed his agreement, nuzzling her head with his chin.

"It's a wonderful dream, Remington," she told him, as she settled more firmly against him with a yawn. "Tell me how many more children exist in these dreams of yours?"

"Ahhhhh, that's a dream for another day, love," he teased, stroking her hair. She yawned again against his chest. "Go to sleep, Mrs. Steele." She nodded against his chest, while tangling her leg with his.

"Olivia Elena," she said sleepily. "It's a very good name, Mr. Steele." His arm hugged her to his side a moment before he heard her soft sigh, telling him she'd surrendered to sleep.

(TBC)


	36. Chapter 36: Mo chuid den tsaol

_**A/N - This chapter contains NC-17 content. If you are under the age of 18 or uncomfortable with such subject matter, please continue to Chapter 37.**_

* * *

Wednesday, October 29, 1986

Remington's eyes blinked open as the feeling of being watched invaded his dreams. Instantly on alert and prepared to defend, instead his lips lifted into a smile as he found a pair of amber eyes watching him. Brushing heavy hair back over a shoulder, he laid a hand against a cheek, his thumb rubbing it.

"Can't sleep?" he inquired. Laura continued to stare, her eyes reflecting a perplexing mixture of confusion and longing.

"Say something to me in Gaelic," she requested in a whisper. Understanding set in.

"Mo chuid den tsaol," he whispered back, then watched as her eyes closed and she let go of a breath she'd clearly been holding. When she opened her eyes again, only the longing remained.

"I want to be close to you, Rem," she told him, her voice hesitant. This time it was his eyes that closed as his heart tripped hearing the words he'd feared not so long ago that he'd never hear again. He let out a deep breath, his handing wending its way to the back of her neck as he opened his eyes.

"Come here, love," he implored quietly. She wriggled over until their bodies nearly touched, then sighed as his lips covered hers.

The kiss started tentatively, then became more ardent, his lips trailing over hers. She allowed him to roll her to her back, as he leaned over her, seeking firmer contact. Her hands skimmed up his arms, then over his shoulders before tangling in his hair, pressing him even closer. Breaking away from the kiss with a quiet gasp, his lips traveled across her face, touching eyes, nose, cheek and chin before returning to her lips.

"Laura," he murmured against them.

She stroked her fingers over his shoulder and down the length of his back, then back up again, smiling against his lips as he arched into her hands. He moaned against her mouth at the feel of her hands against his bare skin, urging her lips apart with the touch of his tongue, reveling in her taste when she opened to him. When at last their lips parted, his mouth journeyed down the column of her neck, kissing, tasting, suckling as she squirmed with delight beneath him, while her hands rediscovered the warm, taunt skin of his sides, over his ribs. He hesitated, briefly, as he lathed the hollow of her throat but long enough for her to understand. Taking the sides of his head in her hands, she urged his head up so that their eyes could meet. Her breath caught at the near desperate need lighting his eyes.

"Make love with me, Rem," she requested on a whisper.

He let out a staccato sigh at her words, and kissed her gently, before returning to hollow of her throat, as long, elegant fingers meandered along her waist and ribs, before working loose the first of the buttons on his pajama top. Each piece of skin earned the attention of mouth and fingers, leaving her quivering with the need to feel them touching skin-to-skin, from shoulder-to-hip, when at last the final button fell free. With a hand to his shoulder, she nudged him to his back, before rising up to straddle him, while sliding the shirt off and tossing it aside. Remington sucked in a deep breath at seeing her nearly completely bare before him after far too long an absence. A hand found the back of her neck, urging her downwards. Stretching out her length over his, her hands tangled in his hair. They kissed long and leisurely, as his hands explored the feel of her back, the panty covered curve of her bottom. When he moved to roll her back over, she shook her head against his mouth.

"Not yet", she whispered, as her lips left his. "You first."

Straddling him again, she grazed her lips along his neck, before settling in to suckle the skin where neck met collarbone, pulling firmly until he groaned, hands grasping her hips desperately while his hips bucked of their own accord. She smiled against his skin, then continued her explorations, leaving not a piece of skin untouched. Small hands explored his chest at length, before each nipple was lathed with attention, leaving him moaning and squirming beneath her, as his hands clutched whatever part of her body that was in their vicinity. A swirl of her tongue around his navel earned a deep, throaty groan as his hips raised from the bed again and fingers tangled in her hair. His pants slipped over his hips and off, earned a grateful hum. Toes suckled and nipped left his body twitching as he called her name repeatedly.

She lifted her eyes to look at him. Eyes closed, a hand reaching for her, he'd allowed himself to get lost in the pure pleasure of her touch. It was one of things she loved most about him: that he never made her question if her actions gave him pleasure. After years of hiding from one another for fear of finding themselves rejected by the other, here, when they made love, they hid nothing at all from one another.

Her lips slowly moved up his legs, her mouth settling in to gently suckle the inside of a thigh. He pushed himself up on an elbow, trying to grab an arm and pull her upwards. She smoothly evaded his hand, laughing as he groaned her name and fell back against the bed.

"Lauraaaaaaa… I'm not goin' to be able to take much more o' that, love, if ye don't wish to be waitin' a while," he managed to spit out gruffly, the song of Ireland pervading each word as she had held him teetering on the edge of bliss.

She lifted her head, flashing him and impish smile before swirling her tongue around the tip of him, carefully backing away as his hips bucked wildly, helplessly at the sensation. Only once he settled did she use hands and mouth to shove him over the peak into oblivion. She laughed when, even as his body still jerked beneath her in the aftermath of his climax, his hands reached for her and pulled her up the length of his body before flipping them over. He buried his face in her neck, panting for breath.

"I believe you're mine to do with as I please now, love," he managed to say breathily, against her skin. She brushed her fingertips down his back in response, smiling as he still arched helplessly into her hands. He lifted his head to look at her, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

"Oh no you don't," he scolded, before capturing her lips under his.

If Laura thought she had taken her time pleasuring him, showing him all that he was to her, Remington made it appear her efforts had been rushed. When he eased her lips from hers, for long minutes, he traced the freckles smattering her shoulders and chest, his mouth paying equal homage to each of them as it trailed behind. A gentle breath blown across her dampened skin left her arching her back in delight, her hands seeking his hair to tangle in. A thumb brushed over a tautening nipple left her gasping, her hands trying to guide his head to where she wanted to feel his mouth most, only for him to lean back and press kisses against her collarbone as a graceful hand traced her delicate curves. Now she coaxed his head upward instead, reveling in the taste of his lips, his tongue against hers as his hand continued to stroke and explore. She hummed softly, against his lips, drawing a soft laugh from him, before he inched away and kissed a path down between the valley of her breasts.

"Remington," she murmured, lifting her back from the mattress, showing him where she most wanted him at the moment. She sank back onto the bed when a finger began drawing ever smaller circles around her nipple. When he at last took it in her mouth, she groaned his name, her hands seeking and holding him there while her hips undulated against the mattress. Like her freckles before, he lavished each breast with attention until she hovered on the brink of ecstasy. His hand pressed against her mound as he suckled hard upon a breast, until her body was wracked with the force of her climax. He drew her body firmly against him as her body tremored. He could only smile against her neck as her fingers dug into his back, holding him to her.

Then he was on the move again. She shivered as his lips made a trail down her chest, between her ribs, his tongue delving into her navel before he moved on. She anxiously lifted her hips when his hands tugged at the waistband of her panties, then sighed as he slipped them off.

This time, however, Remington wanted Laura to find her release when he was buried deep within her, could feel her clenching and trembling around him. Until then, he had only a single goal: to lathe her body in all the love he had for her until she was mass of quivering flesh beneath his hands and mouth - until she knew without a doubt that she was his and his alone. Twice he took her to the edge, backing away at the last moment, refusing to send her over it. As she lay on her stomach and he pressed a trail of kisses along her spine, watching with delight as her shapely bottom twitched with each touch, she could take no more.

"Rem, please, I need to feel you," she moaned.

He waited until she rolled to her back, tugging at his shoulder, before stretching out over her, positioning himself where they both craved him to be. Laying his lips against hers, he held lips and body still until her eyes flickered open to meet his. Her hands fluttered over his back, whisper soft, until they reached his hips. Clutching them in her hands, she urged him forward. They shuddered in unison as he slowly pushed forward into her depths.

"Rem…" she called out to him in barely more than a whisper. His lips pressed against her neck, as she shifted so that she could wrap her legs high and tight around him. Tilting her hips, she sighed as he sank fully into her.

"I know, babe," he answered, pressing his lips against her forehead before he began to move.

He kept the pace hauntingly slow, wanting to prolong the feeling of their bodies bound together for as long as possible.

"Ag déanamh ghrá a thabhairt duit go bhfuil mar a bhfuil píosa na bhflaitheas i mo lámha," he whispered against his ear, even as he clenched his jaw, fighting against the need to bury himself fully in her and find his release. "Laura…" he moaned, his gruff voice telling her what he sought.

Goosebumps rose against his skin when her legs slipped over his hips, to tighten around his legs, telling him she was close. Dropping his head, his mouth sought her collarbone, drawing her skin inside to suckle. She gasped and arched her back, her hands clutching at his shoulders, as he shortened his strokes. With a final pull of her skin into his mouth, she shattered, arching high from the bed, her body seeking contact with his, as she trembled almost violently in her release.

"Rem," she cried out, before burying her face in his shoulder.

Her muscles clenched down hard around him, drawing him high and tight. The force of his climax took away his breath, as his arm reached around her, pulling her body tight against him and his head dropped to her shoulder, his hot breath warming her skin. Long after their bodies stopped trembling, he remained connected with her, showering cheeks, eyes, and brows with soft kisses, speaking quiet words of Gaelic as she worked her way back to him.

"Mo chuid den tsaol," he breathed against her lips before enveloping them under his, needing to taste her again. When her fingers at last threaded through his hair, he gently disengaged their bodies, then wrapped his arms around her, flipping them so they lay facing one another. Her leg nudged its way to lay between his before she wriggled forward, resting her cheek against his chest. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly against his skin. He closed his eyes at the sensation, while his hand caressed her back and hair in long, soothing strokes.

"Remington?" Her fingers traced patterns against his chest.

"Hmmmmm?" He was battling against falling to sleep, wanting her to slip away before him.

"What did you say to me earlier?" Her hand skimmed over his shoulder, then found the side of his head, her fingers brushing comfortingly through the stands, determined as he that he be the first to sleep. That he was more prone to translating the words he'd speak when they made love as the haze of sleep overtook him, was only a side benefit. She smiled as she felt his chest rise then slowly lower. "Rem?"

"What's life without a little mystery, love?" His hand reached for hers, and folding it within his own, he tucked their joined hands between them, before drifting off to sleep.

 _Tomorrow's another day, Mr. Steele. I'll get it out of you yet,_ she thought to herself in the moments before sleep stole her away as well.


	37. Chapter 37: Bait

"Damn it, Laura," Remington yelled, slapping his hand down on the kitchen counter. "I'll not have it, do you understand?!" He stormed out of the room, leaving Laura jumping slightly at the sound of the front door slamming shut. Lifting her face towards the ceiling, she pinched the bridge of her nose, reining in her emotions and collecting herself before facing the family.

"Alright, let's work out the details," she told everyone, as she slid back into her seat at the dining room table, the picture of cool professionalism. Christos shook his head disapprovingly and rose from the table.

"I won't be a part of this," he said heatedly, then followed in his brother's wake.

With a look from Laura to the family members surrounding him at the table, Zeth stood as well, and with a sharp nod to indicate he stood with his brothers on the matter, he caught up with Christos. The door shut with a soft thud behind them, leaving Laura wondering how things had gone so wrong, so fast that morning.

They'd awakened shortly after dawn, bodies still entwined. It had taken only their eyes meeting to stoke the flames of desire that burned like an eternal flame between them. They had made slow, tender love as the sun slowly ascended in the sky. After, they'd reassembled the bed then showered together, simply enjoying the touch of their hands on each other. They'd arrived in the kitchen, hands linked and laughing, their joy that things seemed to be finally returning to normal simply overflowing. They both stutter stepped as they were greeted by seven somber faces, family members that seemed to by lying-in-wait for them: Marcos, Zeth, Christos, Ioseph, Mikos, Alex and Stavros. Remington had only had to take one look at them to know.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, brows furrowing. Marcos nodded to Ioseph to speak.

"A parishioner that does work now and then for Marcos contacted me this morning. He was working the ferry for a little extra money in his pocket, when he took note of a stranger." He looked from Remington to Laura. "The man is here."

Remington sat down hard on the barstool next to him, pulling Laura between his legs and wrapping his arms around the front of her, protectively. "Are you certain?" Ioseph gave a sharp nod.

"The parishioner swears by it, though the man wears a patch over one eye and a bandage over his cheek in an attempt to disguise himself." One of Laura's hands covered Remington's and she threaded her fingers with his while giving it a tight squeeze.

"It's not a disguise," she told Ioseph. "The last day we fought. The wounds are real." She didn't miss the stunned but appreciative looks cast in her direction by Alex and Stavros.

"I give you my word, my Laura, this man will not get near you again. The family will keep you safe," Marcos vowed, as he stood and planted both hands against the table. Six heads nodded in agreement. Easing herself from Remington's arms, she crossed her arms across her body, rubbing them with her hands, as she began to pace while shaking her head.

"This needs to end," she said contemplatively. "And the only way that will happen is if we have the opportunity to put him behind bars where he belongs." Remington stiffened, suspecting where the mind of his wife and partner was about to take her, then stood, prepared to argue vociferously, as he lay narrowed eyes upon her. "If I'm under lock and key… if he sees no opportunity to get to me… that won't happen."

"Laura…" Remington called her name warningly. She looked at him with an apology in her eyes. Within a split second that look turned to one of calm, cool, determination. She gave her head a shake again before continuing.

"We have to make him believe that we have no idea he's here. No," she corrected herself, "He has to believe that we wouldn't think he'd find me here and that means making it appear that I'm alone, or at least alone with only Xenos, as much as possible." She cringed as she watched betrayal, then fury flash across her husband's face.

"Use yourself as bait again. That's what you're suggesting. Am I wrong?" he demanded to know, his voice turning hard, cold.

"No," she began, then once more corrected herself. "Yes. But not in the way you're thinking. We control the environment. We make sure there are eyes on us, backup, at all times but in a manner that wouldn't raise his suspicions. If he believes I'm alone, or that he can catch the both of us by surprise, he'll make a move and then _we_ end things," she argued.

It was then that Remington had taken his stance, stormed out, his brothers falling behind. Now, she returned her attention to the five men sitting at the table around her.

"Xenos and I will need to stay somewhere else," she pondered aloud. "In his eyes, this house will be a fortress. Too many people coming and going, too many people here. We need to be somewhere that he'll believe Xenos and I are alone… no witnesses, no guards." Marcos nodded while rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Our old home should do nicely," he speculated. "The man would have no idea that the homes are connected, that others await to capture him on just the other side of a bedroom door disguised as a closet."

Laura let out a deep breath, shoving thoughts of Remington aside for the moment, and worked with the men to come up with a plan that she could only pray would be foolproof. Being at Roselli's mercy again was simply not an option.

* * *

Christos and Zeth caught up with Remington on the steep steps that led from town to the harbor below. Since childhood, their brother had taken to his feet when most upset, each time migrating towards the water where he would walk and try to clear his head. Two and a half decades later, that hadn't changed.

"Xenos," Zeth called to him, "Wait for us."

Remington turned to look up the stairs in their direction, every fiber of his being insisting he continue moving forward. With a swipe of his hand through his hair, he forced his feet to remain still. Together, the three men descended the steps in silence until they reached the harbor. There, Christos and Zeth stood back and watched as their brother paced frenetically, trying to pull together his rampaging thoughts. Several minutes passed before it became clear that would happen no time soon. Zeth stepped forward and clasped a hand on Remington's shoulder.

"Xenos, we stand behind you on this matter," Zeth assured him. Remington shook his head and shrugged off the other man's hand, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to look out at the sea.

"I appreciate that, but it doesn't matter. Once Laura Holt gets an idea in that head of hers, there's no changing her mind," he noted wearily.

"Surely she'll listen to you—" Remington barked a laugh before Zeth could finish the thought.

"She's a stubborn woman, my wife," Remington corrected, passing a hand across his mouth. "That Roselli has made her question herself, her abilities, will only make her all the more determined to use herself as bait, if for no other reason than to prove something to herself. No, the only thing left is to try to plan for all that might go wrong." He dropped his head, shaking it in defeat.

"Then that is what we will do... together," Christos stated vehemently, walking to stand next to Remington and lying a hand on his shoulder to signify his unwavering support.

"And in order to do that," Zeth added, clasping his hand on Remington's other shoulder, "We need to know what is being planned. It would seem we need to return to the house, Xenos."

Remington turned and looked back up the calderas towards the houses there.

"It would seem that we do," he agreed. He gave each of the men a hug. "Thank you," he told them with sincerity.

"It's what brothers do for one another," Zeth told him, looking at him as though he should know. "You'd do nothing less of either of us." Remington looked up, surprised, somewhat, that it was the truth.

"You're quite right."

The three men returned to the home in time to catch the tail end of the plans being made.


	38. Chapter 38: Into the Breach

Two hours later, Laura retired to their bedroom to pack their bags while Remington, Zeth and Christos conspired to plug the various holes they found in the plan that had been devised by Laura and company. Remington could only pray that they'd considered all the contingencies but could not shake the feeling that disaster was waiting just around the corner. He was nothing less than cordial to her as he gathered up their luggage and took it to the car that was waiting to take them to the old Androkus home and he escorted her to the car with his normal, casual air, his hand pressed against the small of her back.

That in the car he made no attempt to keep her next to him or take her hand spoke of the fury that lurked right below his surface. She sighed, shaking her head, then turned to look out the window as her fingers found her brow and began to knead. When the car pulled up to the small house in the Cyclades they unloaded their bags and carried them in without a word spoken to one another, although he assured she carried no more than her overnight bag given her healing shoulder. So distracted was he by his anger with his headstrong wife that he was unprepared for the flood of memories that assailed him when the door to the small house swung open. Stepping across the threshold he dropped their bags on the floor, rubbing at his neck as he swore he heard the laughter of small children from a room at the rear.

They entered the house directly into the living room. It appeared nothing had changed across the years, if memory served him. A couch sat against the longer of the walls, a loveseat catty corner to the right beneath the window, with an end table between. Trimmed in wood and worn upholstery, both seating pieces had a colorful afghan thrown across the back. A coffee table, scarred by many years of kids playing at it, sat in front of the couch. A buffet and accompany hutch sat at the back corner of the room, near a dining table large enough to seat six. To the right, the doorway to the kitchen. Remington's feet took him there without conscious thought.

It too was exactly the same as it had been in his childhood. Black and white tiled floors, red cabinets, butcher block counters and a butcher block topped island with barstools on one side. As a child he'd never noticed that the kitchen was the largest room in the house. As an adult, he understood why. For decades meals had been made lovingly for the family contained within the home's four walls.

Laura observed Remington, keeping quiet, curious about his response to the house. As he made his way down a short hallway, passing the first door on the right, but then pausing at the second, she followed him on silent feet. She watched as he closed his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels for a moment, a sure sign that he was troubled.

Taking a step into the room, he looked to his right. The single bed Melina had slept in and the bunk beds Zeth and Christos occupied were still there. When he turned to his left, he stared at the wood framed single bed that stood there, covered in a quilt, with a book lying just below the pillow. Slowly, he sank down to sit upon it, lifting the book into his hands and thumbing through the pages. A hand ran across his mouth, then remained there. Laura couldn't stand it another moment.

"What is it?" she asked, her concern evident in her voice. He started, surprised to find her standing there. He'd been so caught up in the memories he hadn't even realized she'd followed behind.

"They kept the bedroom as it was, last time I was here," he said, somewhat dazed. She blinked then looked around the bedroom. _Four beds, four children_ , she noted. She lifted a hand to her chest, eyes moistening. As Marcos had once told her, they'd never let go of him in their hearts.

"So this was your…" She faltered, and took a breath.

"My bed, yes," he nodded, touching the mattress with his hand before glancing back at her. Seeing the look on her face, he took her hand and gave it a little tug, twining their fingers together once she sat. "The quilt Elena gifted me with on my twelfth. And this…" He handed her the book he'd been thumbing through. She took it from him almost reverently, brushing her fingers across the cover before opening to the first page.

It was a book of a form: The sketchbook from his childhood. Even at the young age at which he'd drawn what was contained within the covers, his talent was obvious. Houses perched high upon the caldera. A freighter in the harbor. Children playing football. A child's hands rolling out cookie dough. Page-after-page of childhood memories come to life. Another small piece of happiness from his past to hold onto. She clutched the book to her chest and lay her head against his shoulder.

"I wish I had known you then. I would have convinced you to stay, that you were loved," she told him quietly.

His heart clenched, his anger with her forgotten for the moment. There were times, too often in his opinion, that he forgot about this side of his wife: that his childhood wounded her deeply and that under all those layers of self-protection beat the kindest heart he'd ever known. He eased the sketchbook from her hands and lay it on the floor next to the bed, before stretching out and tugging her to sit between his legs. Once she leaned back against him, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"They were happy times, Laura. I think my time here, more so than anything else, sustained me through the years I was on the streets. It's hard to forget that humanity exists when you've lived between its walls." He chuckled lightly to himself. "I cannot tell you the number of nights Marcos would come into the room threatening us with endless chores should we not quiet down and go to sleep. Even Melina, who was all of about four I'd say at the time, would jabber away, as though she understood anything of which we spoke." She let out a long, jagged breath, then laughed softly.

"The four of you stuffed in one small room, making the most of it, yet Frances and I quarreled endlessly over having to share a bathroom." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "How selfish were we?" Her comment drew another laugh from deep within his belly.

"You think we didn't quarrel? Chris and I argued so frequently that Elena finally threatened to bind our hands together until we could get along. The threat didn't work, of course. We enjoyed tying to get the best of one another far too much to let such a minor punishment deter us." She laughed silently and nodded her head. She could see that in the two of them.

"And Zeth?"

"Zeth was two years older, thought himself worldly and the two of us mere children. He took it upon himself, frequently, to lecture us on how we'd view the world differently when we reached the ripe old age of fourteen." He tipped his head down to look at her. "He had no idea how apt his predictions were, at least when it came to myself." He flashed her a grim smile. "Still, much as he is today, he was protective of the lot of us. It was okay for him to set us straight, but let someone else try to do the same?" He hummed.

"And Melina?"

"As I said, she was but a tyke at the time. She worshipped the three of us, following us around as though our shadow. It used to annoy the bloody hell out of Christos, but not so much myself. I thought it rather, I don't know, endearing, maybe. Many a night when she had a bad dream, she'd come lay up next to me, sucking her thumb until she fell back to sleep, as though I could keep the monsters away." He chuckled softly again. "It was stunning to realize that someone could look at me as see me as their protector. Not a bad feeling, all-in-all."

"I can see that," Laura mused, stroking his arm.

"See what?" he wondered.

"Melina seeing you as her protector. It's such an instinctive part of you, so much so that it's a part of yourself you've never been able to hide, no matter what role you're playing." The thought gave him pause. A one-time conman, who still slipped in and out of roles as his job now demanded, that he'd let anything slip was… disturbing.

"How so?" Her hand paused, then feathered down his arm before her fingers sought out his ring.

"Felicia…" she stumbled, then forced herself to say the name, "Anna, Shannon, Henri and Joelle, Daniel, even Monroe to some degree. Each of them sought you out when in trouble, needed help, knowing you wouldn't be able to turn them away, at least not completely." He grunted in dissatisfaction at her answer. "It's both a blessing and a curse, I'll give you that," she told him, acknowledging his displeasure. His brows furrowed at her commentary.

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain what you mean by that, love."

"A curse in that there are people that have used that protectiveness against you. Felicia, Shannon, Margaret, and Anna, again. A blessing because after weeks of being subjected to a swarm of endless bimbos parading through the office, smarmy comments and adolescent passes, I'd begun to doubt what I thought I'd seen in you. When Wallace was murdered, your reaction, I knew that I'd been right. That it might take time, but finding the man lurking under all those roles would be worth the effort." Behind her, he smiled a toothy grin of pleasure.

"And was it?" he asked, pushing his luck he knew. She laughed throatily.

"I think this says it all, don't you?" she asked, fingering his wedding band. He was shocked, and supremely touched, that she chose to answer him straightforwardly rather than making her standard commentary about keeping his ego in check. Tipping back her head with a finger under her chin, his lips pressed against hers.

The kiss took on a life of its own, moving from slow, gentle caresses to a more vigorous exploration with sensual tugs of a lip and soft nips of teeth. Remington heard the clunk of something hitting the floor, then Laura pulled away, only to turn to straddle him before her lips returned to his. Her hand stroked a path from neck-to-waist, bringing his body to life in only that touch. It took everything he had in him to pull away and extricate himself from under her. A certain demanding part of himself screamed he was a fool, especially when he turned and saw her flushed skin, kiss dazed eyes and parted lips.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused.

"Laura, there's never a time I don't want to make love with you, but I can't. Not as things stand," he told her before turning and leaving the room.

Bending over, Laura slipped her foot back in her boot, secured it then followed after him.

"As things stand? And how exactly do they stand?" she demanded to know, hands on hips and elbows akimbo.

"With you, using yourself as bait once more!" he hollered. "With no discussion on the matter, in defiance of your promise to me, expecting me to simply accept your decision as though I am not your partner or husband by an underling that should do as bade!" He took a deep breath, trying to calm. When he spoke again, he no longer shouted, but was no less angry. "When, Miss Holt, are you going to recognize that I have a stake in your welfare… a rather considerable stake at that?"

"And you were any better, _Mr. Steele,_ when you stood there in front of your family and told me you forbid it? Where was the discussion then!?" she questioned, her own voice rising.

" _Damn it_ , Laura, it's barely been a week since we managed to get you back. Have you forgotten that?" His hand swiped at his face and he turned away, but not before she saw the anguish painted on it. Her temper fizzled. She lay the back of her hand to her forehead and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to find the right words. With a shake of her head, she walked to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his back.

"No, I haven't forgotten. I know how hard it must have been for you—" He stiffened before pulling away, his own temper still burning hot.

"Hard?" he laughed, a short, humorless laugh. "Hard?" He swept a hand through his hair roughly. "Mo chuid den tsaol. I spoke those words to you last night after we'd made love. Have you any idea what they mean?" She lifted her hands and dropped them.

"No," she answered simply.

"You are my everything," he translated for her. "In fighting to keep you safe, I am fighting for everything that matters most to me in life. Yet _you_ , you're prepared to put it all at risk. For what? To prove a point?" Wearily, she sat down on the edge of the couch and looked at him. She held her hands palms up towards him.

"To take our life back. We have a better chance of ending it here than we do back in LA." She sighed, deeply. "I don't want to take this home with us, Remington." The subdued light in her brown eyes had him taking another swipe at his mouth, then a deep, calming breath.

"At what price? Him taking you again should something go wrong?"

"And what's the price if we do nothing? Spending God knows how much time wondering when he's going to appear again, where? What if he attempts to eliminate _you_ again?" she countered.

"Better him take aim at me than for you to be at his mercy again!" His voice rose with his frustration again. Laura could only look at him and shake her head.

"And you think I could live with that? Losing you to him?" She stood and walked to him, tentatively laying her hands on his hips. "Oia is a small town, Rem. Half of the people living here are either related to Elena and Marcos or work for Marcos. Where in LA are we going to have that many people watching our backs? You'll be with me the whole time. We have a better chance of coming out of this on the right side here than we do anywhere else." When Remington closed his eyes, she hoped he'd come around, but knew it for certain when he yanked her to him and held her tight.

"You'd better be right, Laura, because if anything happens to you—" She leaned her head back to look at him.

"It won't," she interrupted, pressing a hand against his chest. "If we've learned anything over the years it's that when we stick together we always come out on top." He pressed his cheek against the side of her head at length before releasing a harsh breath and letting her go.

"Then I guess we should get this show on the road," he told her, another swipe at his hair indicating that he might be going along with her plan but still did not trust in it. "If we plan to eat, we'll need to go to the market." She looked down at her booted foot ruefully.

"I don't know that I'll be up to all that walking," she lamented. He bussed her on the cheek, then placing one hand on the small of her back, held his other out towards the door.

"I'd wager it's a good thing, then, that I arranged for Zeth to drop one of his cars off for us to use at our convenience, eh?"

When they stepped outside, Laura stilled before approaching almost reverently the 1960 Mercedes-Benz 300SL Roadster awaiting them. The black convertible was accented by sleek chrome detailing and featured two, buttery leather seats. Top already down, the keys were in the ignition.

"This is some car, Mr. Steele," Laura told him approvingly, running her fingers along the lines of the trunk.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, handing her into the car. "Zeth has always had an affection for vintage cars. Has quite the collection of them as a matter-of-fact."

"Expensive hobby," she commented. Remington flashed her a grin.

"Work hard, play hard. You wouldn't think it of him, he seems so serious nearly all the time, but put him behind the wheel of one of his little beauties, and he'll make them fly."

"In Oia?" she asked, considering the narrowed, crowded, winding streets. "That doesn't even seem possible."

"You're quite right. Crete is much more suited for the type of driving I'm speaking of." He glanced over at her while lifting her hand from her lap and tangling their fingers together. "Perhaps after this… matter… is wrapped up, we'll hop the ferry and take this little gem out for a test ride…" She flashed her dimples at him, thrilled by the idea.

"It's a date," she assured him.

Three short minutes later, Remington pulled the car up to the curb on the village streets. Cutting the engine, he glanced over at Laura, then gave her hand a squeeze before stepping out of the car, rounding it to open her door. She took his offered hand, then moved to the side to allow him to close the door. Taking her other hand in his as well, he looked down at her, his concern obvious, then leaned in to press his lips to hers, holding them there. She could feel the tension in the hands that held hers. With a slight shudder, his lips left hers.

"Once more into the breach, then, eh?" he posited, his posture suddenly relaxing, almost carefree, and an amused gleam lighting his eyes. She sighed inwardly. _Hello, John Roby, it's been a long time._ She forced herself not to shake her head and couldn't help but wonder the toll this plan was taking on her husband. The roles that he sought safety in had been nearly non-existent in the last months. But now, here was Roby. She chose to play along. His arm slipped around her waist and they walked together down the cobbled street towards the market.

"Shakespeare?" she queried, inserting an amused air into her voice. "Couldn't find any pertinent movie references, Mr. Steele?"

"'This could be very bad for us,' Charlton Heston to Janet Leigh, _Touch of Evil_ , Universal International, 1958," he offered up with a raised brow. Despite his carefree attitude, she noted that his eyes continually scanned the faces of the people on the street. Ever on alert, her Mr. Steele.

"I think I liked the Shakespeare better," she answered wryly. "We're going to be okay, I promise." He glanced at her, then returned his eyes to searching the crowds around them.

"I'll hold you to that, Mrs. Steele," he told her, stopping in front of the market window, and turning her towards him. "You've dozens of eyes on you. Stay in the open where you can be clearly seen." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Be careful, love." She pulled back and bussed his cheek.

"I will," she assured him. "I'll meet you back here in a half of an hour. Go," she nudged him towards the market door. "I'm expecting one of your delicious creations for dinner, Mr. Steele. I'm starving." He chuckled lightly, and stepped into the store.

 _Alright, here we go_ , Laura told herself, then smacking her hands together strolled off to the nearby floral stand. Chatting with the vendor as she made a display of smelling the selection of flowers at hand, and then carefully selecting several varieties of blooms to create a bouquet for the dining table. After the vendor had wrapped her purchase, she paid then moved on down the street. She browsed through a dress shop, then perused the bake shop picking up some trigona panoramatos for dessert for she and Remington. Always vigilant she kept her eyes peeled looking for some sign of Roselli, yet when she returned to Remington at the market she'd never seen him during her journey. His raised brow was all the question he needed to ask.

"Nothing, damn it," she answered irritably. "If he's here, he's well hidden."

"We accomplished what we set out to do in either regard," he pointed out logically. "If he's here, he'll believe that you have no idea that he is; that you wander the streets freely, without me or guards." Reaching the car, he waited while Laura opened the trunk, then dropped the bags inside. Grasping her waist in his hands, he drew her to him. "We'll try again tomorrow," he assured her. "In the meantime," he flashed her a smile, "I'm looking forward for the first evening I've had my wife wholly to myself in nearly two weeks." Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, before she wrapping her arms loosely around his neck.

"Do you have something in mind, Mr. Steele?" she asked, sultry amber eyes locking on warm blue eyes. Looping his arms around her waist, he drew her closer.

"I have many things on my mind, Mrs. Steele, all of them revolving around bringing you immense pleasure," he teased, swaying his hips against hers. "Beginning with herb crusted halibut on a bed of wild rice pilaf, with a wonderful new Pinot Noir a vineyard out in California has turned out." She hummed at the thought, then looked at him, eyes widening.

"A California wine in Greece?" she laughed. Now it was his turn to hum.

"The owners of that little market take great pride in being wine connoisseurs. They have a fair selection from vineyards across two continents." He leaned down and covered her lips with his, plundering for a moment. When they parted he smacked his lips together and hummed. "But I dare say, the sweetest thing I'll taste tonight is you." He ran a single finger down the column of her throat, making her shiver.

"It seems you have more than dinner on your mind this evening, Mr. Steele," she observed, throatily. "Dessert maybe?" He grasped her head between his hands and plundered again. When he withdrew, he wagged his brows at her, not even attempting to hide the desire burning in his eyes.

"I believe I was thinking more along the lines of an appetizer, Mrs. Steele." She threw back her head and laughed.

"But I'm starving," she pointed out. He gave her a lascivious look.

"Believe me, so am I, so am I." Her laughter danced around them as he handed her into the car.

The trip back to the house only took five minutes, but by the time they'd arrived, her entire body was alight with desire. A gentle suckle along the pulse of her wrist, a single finger drawn into a warm mouth, the inside of an elbow lathed by attentive lips and tongue and a single finger drawn down the column of a neck all had the intended effect. His smug look as he helped her from the car told her he knew without a doubt that he'd left her quaking with need.

And intended to leave her in such a state unless she made the first move.

In the house, he unpacked the groceries he'd purchased, then began to prep their dinner. Laura watched him from the barstool on which she'd perched, stealing lusty little glances at his shapely bum when he'd turn to wash a vegetable at the sink or retrieve a spice from the cabinet in which they'd been placed. She feigned interest as he shared with her details of the other vintage automobiles tucked into the six car garage on Zeth's property, waiting all the while for him to make a move. When he turned away again to light the burner of the stove and place a pan upon it, she'd had enough. Slipping down off the stool, she walked up behind him and stretching her arms around him ran both hand with the lightness of a butterfly flitting upon the wind from neck-to-belt. When she heard his breath hitch, a hand dared to slide over a hip, and skim the shapely bum she'd been admiring.

"I thought you said something about an appetizer," she reminded him, her voice growing husky with undisguised ardor. He continued to tease.

"Appetizer, absolutely. I suppose I could just whip up—" He lost all ability to think when she reached around and cupped him with her hand, then began to rub.

"Turn off the stove, Remington," she commanded in a lusty little voice. With all the blood in his head rushing rapidly south, his hand flipped off the gas mindlessly and he allowed her to pull her by his hand to the little bedroom at the back of the house.

Standing up on tip toe, Laura drew his head down to hers, feasting hungrily on his mouth, as a hand slipped down to release the buttons on his shirt. At his smug little laugh against her mouth, she used both of her hands to shove him backwards, leaving him sprawled out on the bed.

"Have something on your mind, Laura?" he continued to tease, although unable to hide his own desire when his tongue flicked against his lips as he watched her unbutton then pull off her blouse.

"It's time to finish what you started in the car, Remington," she answered, crawling over the bed to straddle his lap. She ran the fingertips of both hands through his hair, down his neck, over his shoulders, finally landing to graze across his chest. She watched with satisfaction as his breathing kicked up several notches.

"And defile my childhood bed?" he managed to get out. She smirked at him.

"Or give you a whole host of new memories of times spent in it," she suggested, as his hands skimmed along her bare waist.

"Something tells me you're about to do just that," he answered gruffly, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her lips down to his.

And she did.

(TBC)


	39. Chapter 39: Forward Looking

Two hours, a long round of lovemaking and short nap later, Remington and Laura had resumed their positions in the kitchen. Wrapped in only their robes, she sat perched on the barstool, a bare leg showing through the part in her robe, providing a delightful source of distraction that left her husband swallowing hard. If he thought his appetite for his delectable little wife would be slaked by their earlier antics, he would have been wrong. Already, his mind was continuously wandering to how to entice her into another round after dinner.

Lucky for him, his wife's mind was traveling along the same road. As she sipped her glass of wine, she couldn't help but admire her husband's form. Her mind continually returned to the memory of him moving over and in her, as his hands and lips left no part of her not bathed in his love. It was taking all her concentration not to strip him of his robe and return to the bedroom, and focus it instead on the conversation at hand.

"So," she began, forcing her mind back to the here-and-now, "Is this kitchen where your love of cooking began?" He flashed a toothy smile at her, pleasure lighting his eyes.

"It is. Elena and I worked side-by-side at this very island for countless days during my time here." She cocked her head to the side.

"Yet, I can't seem to recall a single Greek meal that you've ever prepared for us," she said thoughtfully.

"Granted, I tend to favor creations of a French or Italian persuasion, but Elena taught me how to make innumerable Greek dishes."

"Would you be opposed to making one now-and-again when we get back home?"

"For you?" he grinned, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips over her knuckles. "It would be my pleasure." Returning to the stove, he turned off the gas, placing a browned halibut steak on each of their plates. Giving a nod towards their wine glasses, he queried, "Shall we dine here or at the dining table?" She pursed her lips and considered, then a wicked gleam lit her eyes.

"Here, I think," she told him, carefully blanking her face. Amused eyes narrowed upon her, but he set a plate in front of her, then sat on the stool to her right. Picking up his glass of wine, he swirled the liquid before taking a sip, still considering her.

"Why do I have this vaguely disturbing feeling that you are up to something, Mrs. Steele?" The manner in which she widened her eyes in feigned innocence only confirmed she was indeed.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Steele. I am entirely focused on enjoying this wonderful meal with my husband," she prevaricated. Taking a bite of the halibut and rice, she closed her eyes in delight.

"Mmmm hmmmm," he hummed, not quite buying it, but taking a bite of his meal as well.

Taking another look around the kitchen, Laura grew pensive. It was clear that this room contained many happy memories for Remington. What had he said earlier about living here? She searched her mind.

* * *

" _ **They were happy times, Laura. I think my time here, more so than anything else, sustained me through the years I was on the streets. It's hard to forget that humanity exists when you've lived between its walls."**_

* * *

Staring blankly at the kitchen, she blinked her eyes rapidly, warding away the moisture that threatened, and not for the first time said a small prayer of thanks that he'd known at least the kindness he'd found within this home, the Androkus family. _I want our own children to know this kind of happiness, security,_ she thought to herself.

"Mmmmm, as do I," Remington agreed. Laura started, not realizing she'd said the words aloud, then, blushing profusely, took a heaping bite of her dinner. He watched with amusement, aware that she only tended to stuff her mouth so when she was nervous. He reached over and took her hand his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "What is it, love?" She averted her eyes and took another bite. "Laura…" Sighing, she set down her fork.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud," she answered, studying her nails. He chuckled lightly.

"It's not as though we've not discussed having a child before," he pointed out. He took another bite of food, speaking as he chewed. "As a matter of fact, I believe just last night the subject arose once more." She relaxed visibly at his words, yet continued to study her nails. She looked at her from under her lashes, wondering if she might dare to ask the question that has been bouncing around her head for a while. She searched for and found her gumption then leaned back and looked her husband square in the face.

"How many?" she blurted out, then bit her lip and tried to insert some humor into her question. "And if you tell me you hope to compete with Zeth and Christos, you'd better think again, big guy." Remington barked out a loud laugh at merely the thought.

"Good Lord, no," he answered in mock horror. Then growing serious, "The idea of one is terrifying enough, given I've no earthly idea how to be a father..." He took another bite of his dinner, then leaned back in his seat to consider her this time. With a nearly indiscernible shake of his head, he thought, _In for a penny…_ "Yet, I suppose two would be no more fear-provoking than one, and I'd like any child we have to have a sibling. It's one of the things I enjoyed most during my time here," he waved his hand towards the living area, "having siblings with which to play, and in Christos's case, get into mischief with."

She was held speechless for a long spell, his recent habit of voluntarily spilling out his thoughts still new to her. As the silence stretched, she watched her husband look at her nervously and his hand lift so that he could worry a thumbnail, wondering now if he'd said too much. As a smile spread across her face, a matching one lit his as well.

"Dare I ask if you've had dreams about child number two as well?" _…in for a pound,_ she finished his own thought in her mind.

"Perhaps that might be best asked once we're ready for bed, eh?" he answered, lifting his glass to her, delighted when her laughter trickled through the air.

She tucked herself into her food again, before slanting him a sideways glance, an impish smile twitching at her lips. She shifted slightly in her seat, still seemingly concentrating on her meal, but grinned slyly as she watched her husband jump when her foot eased under his robe to stroke a bare leg. Remington took another bite of his dinner as though nothing was amiss, making Laura only more brazen, as her foot slid decidedly upwards. He chuckled lightly, grasping her foot with one hand while he took a bite of his food with the other.

"One might think given your various bumps, bruises, factures and the like, that another round of such… vigorous exercise… might not be welcomed so soon," he suggested.

"Are you questioning Doctor Holt?" she teased. He raised his brows at her in question. "Exercise promotes the release of endorphins and endorphins are a natural pain reliever." She slid off the barstool to stand between his legs. Giving the sash of his robe a firm tug, she eased open his robe and pressed her lips to his chest. Tilting her head back to look at him, she added, "Plus, you happen to be an excellent source of distraction." She trailed open lips across his collarbone, then pulled his skin firmly into her mouth, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. Standing, he scooped her up into his arms. She felt his body tremor when her mouth found that place under his ear.

"Where, exactly, are we going to trip the light fantastic, Mrs. Steele?" he managed to ask.

"I think you know," she whispered next to his ear, before tugging on his earlobe with her lips.

And he did.

* * *

Kitchen cleaned, showers taken, and the house shut down for the night, shortly after midnight found Remington and Laura curled up, rather comically, in his childhood bed. A bed that fit his tall, slim frame as a child, now left a goodly portion of his calves hanging off the end, the quilt not even quite reaching far enough to cover his feet. Wiggling his toes, he glanced at them skeptically.

"Really, love, there's a perfectly acceptable queen sized bed in the other bedroom—"

"Here," she cut him off, her voice quietly insistent, snuggling even closer against him.

"It can get a bit nippy here at night in late October. My feet—" She sighed deeply and rolled out of the bed. Grinning he made to follow, only to find a finger pointing at his nose.

"You… stay," she commanded. He frowned at her as she left the room, both because he was curious of what she was about and her order.

"Really, Laura, I'm not that traitorous cat of yours, and even he didn't stay when ordered," he bellowed after her. "Perhaps I should just light out as he did." She was laughing as she returned to the room.

"Might I remind you that I give _you_ far more reason to stay then a bowl of food each day and an occasional saucer of cream?" She kneeled down at the end of the bed, and after a playful nip of his big toe to serve as a reminder, she slipped a pair of socks on his feet.

As petulant as his complaints of the small bed might have seemed, she knew it was nearly impossible for him to sleep if any part of his body was cold, as it brought back unwanted memories of his days living on the streets. Standing, she strategically spread out the afghan she'd returned with so that his calves and feet were now covered in its warmth. Slipping back into the bed, she turned onto her side, facing outwards. Automatically, he moved to spoon his body with hers, then hesitated, recalling her reaction when she woke to find them in just such a position. She looked over her shoulder at him, questioningly, then understanding lit her face.

"I know exactly who it is I'm in bed with, Remington. It'll be fine." As he continued to hesitate, she tugged on his arm, only relenting when he tentatively settled in behind her. With a sigh, she reached for his hand and began to toy with his ring. Nearly two minutes passed before he sighed deeply and settled fully in behind her, his arm pulling her closer. She smiled contentedly, then reminded him of their conversation in the kitchen. "Are you going to give me a dream tonight?" she brazenly hinted. He nuzzled the side of her head with his cheek.

"I suppose I could be persuaded. Pick a year, love." She pursed her lips, trying to determine which year would give her the best opportunity of learning about the second child he'd alluded to.

"Five years."

"Home or work?" he queried, lips twitching with a smile as he already knew what she had in mind.

"Home." She felt him nod against her head, but he held silent enough for her to worry that she'd pressed this particular subject too hard. She had just prepared to feign sleep, when he spoke.

"In the months before Olivia was born, we'd come to realize that becoming parents was perhaps more… challenging… than either of us had anticipated. Lamaze classes, surrounded by parents-to-be that were nothing more than children themselves. Natural childbirth or elsewise? How long would we take between her birth and return to the office? What changes would happen professionally in light of the changes in our personal life? Before Olivia was born, we had had a rather frank discussion about the early weeks of her life, both of us wanting to spend as much time as possible with her while still attending to the needs of the Agency. We came to a compromise: for eight weeks we would limit the types of cases we took on to simple insurance claims, skip traces, and security contracts. This would allow us to work from home, for the most part, catching up case files which you saw as an added bonus, relishing it, but I of course did not. When we were needed in the field to monitor security arrangements or in the office to meet with a client, one of us would attend to those matters while the other stayed at home with the baby. It was a bit hectic, at times, but what mattered most to both of us is that we had as much time as possible with her…"

"And after those eight weeks?"

"We put Olivia in that little daycare on the fifth floor… you know the one, what's it called?"

"Bright Beginnings," Laura supplied.

"Yes, yes, that's it. This way we would be nearby if she needed anything and we could stop by as we pleased to check on her. It seemed the ideal solution, and was to a large degree, except both of us developed a nasty habit, along with Auntie Mildred, of going downstairs and bringing her back to the office. We'd heard too many stories by that point from Donald, from Murphy, of all the firsts they had only heard about but did not see while their kids were growing from infant to toddler, having been at work at the time. Neither of us was willing to miss the first time she turned over, the first time she crawled, took her first steps or said her first word. We didn't want a snap shot or a report from the daycare, we wanted the memory. Very quickly her time was limited at daycare to when we had a client coming in or when we were in the field. We set up a playpen in the corner of my office, odd looks from clients be damned, and did what we do best: bucked the system, bending the rules to fit what we wanted instead of dictating what we were limited to."

"Mmmmm," she hummed. "I could see us doing that."

"By the time she was two we'd both grown comfortable with our new roles as parents and decided to push the envelope, if you will, by gifting Olivia with a sibling. By then, Mildred had moved into her new role as a full-time associate, and we'd hired a new major domo in her stead along with two interns, so that we'd have time to devote to our child and now growing family. Unlike with Olivia, business could continue on as normal, requiring us only to appear for regular staff meetings and to handle only the most pressing of matters when our child arrived."

"The babe arrived on the coldest day of winter that year. When at last you both were released to go home, the four of us lay on the couch before the fire. With Olivia snug against my side, you resting in my arms and our youngest child nursing within yours, I knew one thing without a doubt." She turned her head to look at him.

"Oh?" He hummed in answer. "What was that?"

"That outside of their mother who had given me a life I'd once never believed possible, I could never love anyone more than I did them." Laura turned over, ignoring her nagging ribs, and leaned back her head to look at him.

"A daughter or son?" He chuckled quietly, touching his lips against her forehead.

"A son." Her fingers found the side of his head to thread through his hair.

"And his name?" His lips quirked upwards, knowing the next would draw her pique.

"The maiden name of the woman who has inspired me since the day we first met…" he hinted. She bit her lip and leaned back to look at him again, unable to suppress a flash of dimples.

"Holt… Holt Steele." Her eyes sparkled at the thought. "I like it. And the middle?"

"The first name of the man that inspired many a passport," he answered, holding his breath to keep from laughing. Laura's brows furrowed, then shot upwards.

"Remington Chalmers Steele, we are _**not**_ naming a child of ours 'Humphrey,'" she told him emphatically, thoroughly appalled at the mere idea. He pretended to consider what she said, then nodded seriously.

"Holt Humphrey Steele. It has a certain… ring… to it," he mused aloud to further tweak her.

"No." He pretended to reconsider.

"Now that I think of it, I've always seen myself more of a Cary—" That had her propping herself up on an elbow. With a shove on his shoulder, he landed on his back openly laughing now. She leaned over him so they were eye-to-eye.

"Let me make myself clear, Mr. Steele. We will _not_ be hanging our child with a moniker from any of the characters or stars from your movies," she insisted, waggling a finger at his nose.

"Really, Mrs. Steele, do I need to point out the number of perfectly acceptable names such an edict would require us to cast aside?"

"I'd suggest you start fishing for names in another pond as that edict has been issued." She gave an emphatic nod of her head and made a motion with her hand to emphasize the matter was closed as far as she was concerned. Remington gave her a bemused look and began to laugh.

"Really, Laura, it was only a dream. I'm fairly certain that you're not with child at the moment," he lifted his brow, unable to stop himself from teasing further, "and given you kept _me_ at bay for four years, I'd wager I've at least half a decade to sway you to my way of thinking."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Remington, but it would take _decades_ for that to happen," she told him with a huff, laying back down, nuzzling her head into his shoulder.

" _Decades_? I'll be a doddering old man by then," he griped playfully. Laura cast a wicked look his way, unseen by him, as her fingers plucked at his chest hair.

"That is true," she drawled, pretending to ponder his words. "After all, I've already come across a couple of gray hairs." That had Remington catapulting himself up on his elbows to peer down at his chest, knocking his wife off of him in the process.

"You've done no so such thing," he sputtered, as said wife giggled with mirth. He shifted to lean over her, noting the merriment twinkling in her eyes. His lips twitched upwards in a smile. "You, my love, have a cruel streak in you," he admonished, then locked lips with her and plundered a moment before rolling back to his back and waiting for her to settle against him.

"Seems we have that in common. Humphrey…" she snorted.

"It's a perfectly—"

"Horrible name," she finished for him, then smiled when she heard his laugher rumbling in the chest her ear lay against. She eased her leg over his, leaving her all but sprawling half across him. He sighed contentedly as his fingers found her hair to toy with curls that she'd left untamed after her shower. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her fingers dancing lightly over his chest.

"I'd never have imagined a year ago that we would be lying here now laughing over baby names, would you?" she asked quietly. His hand slipped from her hair to skim lightly down her arm and then back up, before burying itself back in her hair, giving him time to carefully choose his words.

"I think you pointed out, not long ago, that you've continually had to play catch up where we're concerned," he answered vaguely. Capturing her hand in his, he wrapped his fingers around hers, then tucked them up against his chest.

"Let me guess… you can't let me get the upper hand," she posited quietly.

"Precisely," he chuckled softly, bussing her on the top of her head.

"Remington?"

His silence told her he'd drifted off to sleep. Turning her head, she pressed a kiss against his chest, then nuzzled her cheek to him, before closing her eyes and letting dreams of baby names sweep her away.


	40. Chapter 40: Setting the Trap

Thursday, October 30th, 1986

Remington and Laura were awakened by someone insistently pounding on the front door. As logic would declare that Roselli wouldn't knock to announce his arrival, he felt free to mutter a string of creative oaths, while she covered her head with a pillow and groaned. Sidling himself out from under her body, Remington climbed out of the bed and snatched his robe off of the end of the bunkbeds where he'd hung it the night before. Wrapping it around himself and giving the sash a firm tug, he left the bedroom.

"Coming, coming," he called out, as the banging persisted. Picking up his watch off of the dining room table, he muttered another round of curses when he saw it was a few minutes before seven. Reaching the door he slung it open. "Ooomph," he grunted, as a body slammed into him.

"Xen!" Melina screeched next to his ear, while jumping up and down in his arms. "I couldn't believe it when Mama and Papa told me you were here!" Remington managed to avert his face a split second before Melina's head would have slammed into his mouth.

"Melina, while I am thrilled, as always, to see you, have you any idea what bloody time it is?" he demanded to know, the hug he gave her softening his words.

"Oh, I've been up and about for hours," she told him, backing up and waving away his admonishment. "When I heard last night you were here, I had to get over here at the first acceptable hour."

"Should I point out that seven o'clock in the morning is hardly 'acceptable'?" She smirked at him.

"You seem to forget, Xen, that nearly everyone has been up and working for hours—" She broke off her words and shrieked again as Laura came out of the bedroom wrapping her robe around herself. She found herself caught up short when she bounded towards Laura, but Remington wrapped his hand in her jacket corralling her before his wife could be the recipient of the same enthusiastic greeting he'd been greeted with.

"Easy there. Laura's still recovering and doesn't need to be set back by your particular brand of greeting," he warned. Shooting him a look, she never the less approached Laura in a considerably more toned-down manner.

"Your brother worries too much," Laura assured Melina as they exchanged hugs. The husband in question scowled in her direction.

"I don't worry too much, but the correct amount as the occasion calls for it. I'll have you know she nearly took me off my feet when I opened the door," he griped. Much like Melina had only a minute before, Laura waved him off, while stretching an arm over Melina's shoulders and directing her towards the kitchen.

"I'm about to make myself some tea, would you like a cup?"

"I'd like that very much. But first I must get the breakfast Mama sent over from out of the car." Laura shook her head.

"Don't worry about that. Xenos will bring it in for you, won't you?" she asked looking over her shoulder at Remington. He looked at her askance, then down at his clothing.

"I'm hardly dressed appropriately for the public eye, Laura," he pointed out. Laura rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't worry, Mr. Steele," she told him dismissively. "I think the odds of a photographer from the LA Times lying in wait to take your pictures are fairly long." Melina tried to smother her laughter and failed miserably.

With much to say under his breath, he trudged out to Melina's car to retrieve what Elena had sent over to them. When the smells wafted out to titillate his senses, his mood took a sudden upswing. When he returned to the house, he found Laura and Melina ensconced at the island sipping their tea. A cup of tea placed in his hand earned Laura a brush of his lips that ended in a laugh when her stomach growled audibly at the scents permeating the kitchen from the basket he'd placed in the center of the island.

Taking three plates from the cabinet, he was surprised when Melina declined.

"You know Mama. She made certain I was fed before I departed. She can't have one of her children growing too thin, as you are aware," she laughed while Laura craned her neck to see what Remington was dishing out.

"Saganaki eggs and manitaria," he told her with a nod towards the plate.

"Mama sent along some pastries as well in case you don't care for the saganaki and manitaria," Melina let her know.

"Laura has a very refined palate," he praised. "Much of that, of course, due to my own tutelage."

Melina directed her attention to Laura, prepared to mock him for his smug claim when Laura denied his assertions, and was surprised when Laura instead shrugged a shoulder at her, acknowledging the truth of his statement.

"Before I came along, Laura believed cotton candy and street vendor hotdogs were the epitome of fine food," he teased. She shook her head and laughed at him.

"I wasn't _that_ bad," she disagreed. "I also took a great deal of pleasure in fruit, salads and yogurt not to mention pizza and takeout Mexican and Chinese."

"A veritable Gourmet," he shot back before redirecting his attention to Melina. "Now she seems to believe canard au vin rouge, cassoulet and coq au vin are as common of dinner fare as hamburgers and spaghetti."

"Now you're being dramatic," she told him, her musical laughter filling the room. "I believe I make it a point to compliment you on every meal you prepare for us." Melina's gale of laughter joined Laura's.

"Are you saying that _Xen_ actually _cooks_ the meals?" Remington set Laura's plate down in front of her then leaned against both arms, hands pressed on the counter, coming nearly nose-to-nose with Melina.

"Why, exactly, do you find that so amusing? If memory serves, Elena made sure each of us were well versed in the kitchen," he reminded her with raised brow.

"It's not your ability I question, it is you doing much of anything that requires an expenditure of energy," Melina slung back. Laura snorted with amusement, then at her husband's offended look attempted to cover by taking a heaping bite of the eggs.

"'I don't mind a reasonable amount of trouble,'" he informed Melina, returning his attention to her.

" _The Maltese Falcon,_ Humphrey Bogart…" Laura began then frowned as her memory ran aground at that point.

"Mary Astor, Warner Brothers, 1941," he completed for her, his attention fully back on her again, flashing her a toothy grin, impressed. She playfully waggled her brows at him and took another bite of food.

"I might point out that you recalled only Bogart. One might wonder if someone pondered a certain name whilst they slept," he teased with a waggle of his own brows.

"It's not happening," she sing-songed.

"It's a perfectly—"

"Hideous—" she supplied.

" _Respectable_ name," he corrected, his lips twitching with amusement. Melina watched the byplay with great interest, then vaulted off her stool to circle the island and throw herself at Remington, nearly taking him off his feet for the second time on the morning. She hugged him fiercely as he looked at Laura in confusion.

"Oh my God, you're going to have a baby!" she screeched into his ear, making him wince. "Mama and Papa are going to be thrilled and you'll never hear the end of it from Chris and Zeth. I can't wait to—" Remington set her away from him, laughter rumbling in his chest.

"We are _not_ having a baby, Melina. We have been merely having a rather spirited debate on the virtues of gracing any child we might have _one day_ with the honor of bearing an iconic name." Melina frowned at him, trying to discern what he meant, then her eyes grew wide and she turned to look at Laura.

"You're not naming you child after one of his film people are you?" she demanded to know.

"My _film people,_ " he sputtered. "I'll have you know—"

"Don't worry, Melina," Laura assured her, patting her hand playfully, "Xenos seems to be confusing me with his next wife." Remington looked at her aghast while Melina tittered behind her hand.

" _My next wife?!_ I'll have you know, _Mrs. Steele,_ after all the time and energy I've devoted to convincing _you_ to take the matrimonial plunge, there will only be but one Mrs. Steele," he groused.

"Are you saying I'm stuck with you?" she sought to clarify, amused eyes landing on him. Blue eyes connected with hers and the intensity that shone in them warmed her to her toes.

"That I am," he answered and leaned in to lock lips with hers. Melina cleared her throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to settle on her.

"Are the two of you always like this?" she wondered.

"That would depend if you are referring to our verbal jousting or the kissing," Remington qualified.

"Both." The couple looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders.

"Until recent months, I'd have to say we've done far more of the former than the latter, although I certainly tried, quite valiantly I might add, to tip the scales in the opposite direction. Miss Holt, however, was quite skilled at thwarting my attempts," Remington mused. Laura tossed a smug little smirk in his direction, making Melina giggle again.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you right off," Melina addressed Laura. "It's about time someone came along that could keep my brother in line." Gales of laughter floated across the air in the kitchen.

"Don't let Xenos fool you. He only follows the directives that amuse him, the remainder he does a pretty little tap dance around," Laura laughed, this time being the recipient of a smirk of his own.

"So, Melina, where have you been off to this last week?" Remington asked, smoothly changing the course of the conversation.

"A few friends and I took holiday in Barcelona."

"Barcelona," Laura said aloud, wistfully, her mind immediately harkening back to an evening when she and the man before her had quite literally dance the night away there. Remington's eyes immediately flickered towards her. The dreamy look on her face had him lifting her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles as their eyes met, then held, as he recalled the magical evening as well.

"You've been to Barcelona then?" Laura blinked at Melina's question, returning her to the here-and-now and the fact that they had company. She withdrew her hand from his, for which he cast a scowl upon the younger woman.

"On my first trip to Europe, during an alumni tour for my college Glee Club. Our stay in Barcelona was very brief," her eyes moved to look at her husband again, "but memorable."

"It was at that," he concurred, white hot eyes mesmerizing her.

"Speaking of music," Melina interrupted once again, all but jumping around on her stool, "you must find time for us to play together again, Laura. I have found us a couple of duets in the hopes that you and Xen would be coming back home one day soon. Schubert's Fantasy in F minor is absolutely lovely, and Dvorak's Slavonic Dance in E minor, we must perform!" Laura reached across the island and gave Melina's hand a squeeze.

"I'm sure I can find time before we leave," she assured her. In all honesty, the idea was quite appealing. Melina was a talented pianist and she'd immensely enjoyed the duets they'd performed the last time.

"Leave?" Melina lamented. "But you just got here!"

"We've been here a week already, Lina," Remington reminded her, reverting to the name he'd used for her in childhood when she was upset. "Laura and I have a business at home that requires our attention. We can't just take off at whim-or-will. We've responsibilities to attend to." Laura blinked hard at the last. She was unsure if her surprise was due to his reference to their business obligations or that he had referred to LA as home. She filed away the quandary to consider later.

"How much longer?" she queried, plopping her chin into her hand dejectedly.

"If all goes as we hope, I'd like to think we'll be back in LA in four days, five at most," Remington answered as Laura nodded her agreement.

"That barely gives us any time to spend together," she sulked further.

"True, true and unfortunately, that time can't begin now. Laura and I have a few matters we have to attend to today, and a good portion of the morning has already escaped us." Melina shot him a sour look.

"I can take a hint, Xen," she told him, sliding down off the barstool and packing up the containers into the insulated bag she'd brought over that morning. "But promise me, you'll come at least one night to Mama and Papa's before you leave," she demanded, sticking her chin up petulantly. Remington grinned.

"We promise," he told her, bussing her on the cheek. Laura slipped down off her stool as well and gathered Melina in her arms in a hug.

"I promise, you and I will do those duets before we leave," she vowed.

After Melina departed, Remington and Laura quickly put the kitchen in order, wiping counters, washing, drying then putting up dishes and silverware. As they dressed and completed their morning ablutions, they discussed the plans for the upcoming day, he eyeing her boot at length at one point.

"Do you think you might be up for a bit of walking, love? Not much, perhaps ten minutes each way?" She looked at him in the bathroom mirror where she was touching up her lashes with mascara.

"What do you have in mind?" she inquired, dropping her mascara back into her cosmetic bag and reaching for her brush.

"I was thinking we might take a drive up to the Castle of Saint Nikolas and stroll about the ruins for a little while this morning. I'd much prefer that we were able to enjoy it in the evening at sunset as the view is extraordinary, but the Castle draws the tourists and we will be visible while Marcos's men can easily blend in." He made the suggestion with great hesitation, feeling like he was placing a target squarely on her back.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she assured him, while clipping a barrette into her hair.

Stepping up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her near. She watched him at length in the mirror, at first simply admiring him. He'd left his hair tousled and hanging across his forehead, making the blue of his eyes standout all the more. There were many days when she simply could not get over his sheer beauty. When she focused more closely on his face, she saw the tension around his eyes and mouth, the clenching of his jaw he was attempting to conceal. Turning in his arms, she gently threaded her fingers through the hair on both sides of his head.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her concern for him clear in her voice. He tightened his arms around her in response, and lay his forehead against hers.

"No, _I'm not alright_ , Laura," he told her, his angst clear in his voice. "I bloody well hate this." He exhaled a shaky breath, while unconsciously leaning his head into one of her hands.

"All the more reason to get it over with as soon as we can," she pointed out logically. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he stepped back from her and nodded, determinably putting on his professional mask of feigned indifference to threats to their safety.

"Then it would be my recommendation that we spend the afternoon at Amoudi Bay. We can leisurely stroll the shops, take some time on the beach, then enjoy an early dinner at Katina." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on the heels of his feet.

"Plenty of opportunities for Roselli to observe us, then," she noted with approval.

"More than ample. I imagine if he has his eyes on us, by day's end he'll be quite convinced he can find innumerable opportunities to gain access to you," he agreed. Laura gave him a final look, then nodded her head.

After a call to Marcos providing him their itinerary for the day, they departed for the first leg of their journey.

* * *

After parking the car in the lot of Art Maisons, a luxury hotel adjacent to the castle, Remington and Laura traveled by foot to the castle itself, a mere couple of minutes' walk. She'd been surprised to be greeted not by a stunning, if not romantic, piece of architecture but instead by ruins. She looked at him with open curiosity. He tugged at his ear and grinned at her.

"Clearly, I forgot to mention that the castle as it once stood was destroyed during the earthquake in 1956. Still, it remains one of the most popular attractions on the island, especially at sunset when crowds will gather to watch the sea catch fire as the sun sinks into the horizon." His hand captured hers, lacing their fingers together.

"I imagine there is a story behind the castle?" He chuckled quietly.

"We're in Greece, love," he pretended to scold, "These islands are nothing if not rife with history. The castle itself can be traced back to 1480 when the Dargentas, descendants of the Byzantine Emperor Romanos Argyros, called it home. It remained as such for nearly a century, when Turkish pirates captured the castle in 1577 and all the occupants of it where transferred to Syria where they were enslaved."

"Pirates? Actual pirates?" she asked, surprised.

"Hmmmm," he hummed. "The island was the frequent target of pirates during the medieval ages. While the harvests would be plundered and the men captured and enslaved, a far worse fate awaited the women." He gripped her hand tighter as she picked her way carefully up a pebbled slope that would take them to the top of the castle's crumbled wall, ever mindful of the boot she wore.

"What happened to the women?" she asked with unhidden curiosity.

"They were sold to Muslim harems," he noted with a raised brow.

"Are you serious?" she asked, shocked and affronted.

"Quite," he nodded. "Over time, many fled the island. But those Santorinians who stayed… aclimated, building their houses into the side of the cliffs, disguising them from the pirates that traveled the seas. The ploy was not always effective, but when the pirates arrived they'd find most of the homes empty, as passageways built for just that purpose allowed residents to escape to the relative safety of the inland. Marcos, Elena, descend from those that stayed." Having reached the top of the wall, she turned to face him, looping her arms around his neck, smiling when his arms automatically encircled her waist.

"We're being watched," she told him quietly. A hand slipped away from her waist to bury itself in her hair.

"I know," he answered somberly. The little hairs on the back of his neck had been standing on end since shortly after their arrival. "I've yet to spot him." She sighed.

"I haven't either. He could be anywhere," she noted, surreptitiously moving her eyes to look around the ruins.

"Regardless, it would seem we've accomplished what set out to do this morning, eh?" He touched his lips to hers. When their lips parted, she let out a low growl of frustration.

"I just want this to be over with, Remington. I want him out of our lives. I want to go home." She took a deep, frustrated breath and let it out slowly, turning her head away from him and looking out over the sea but seeing nothing. "We should be moving into our house today," she observed, forlornly. Remington's arm tugged her close, the hand in his hair tucking her head under his chin.

"I know, love," he whispered to her, supremely touched that she'd remembered despite the events of past weeks. "We'll be there soon enough, arguing, I imagine, over where everything goes." She laughed against his chest.

"Not as long as you leave the office to me to put in order," she told him, tipping back her head to look at him.

"And you do likewise with the kitchen," he admonished with a smile. With a nudge of his hand to her neck, he drew her up so their lips could meet again in a tender kiss. When it ended, he studied her face. "Tired, love?" She shifted from foot-to-foot, somewhat irritated he'd spotted her fatigue so easily, then crinkled her nose.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I am," she confessed. It aggravated her, he knew, that her body was not bouncing back as quickly as she believed it should.

"I could use a kip myself after Melina's early morning and all," he offered. Laura pressed up on her toes and lay her lips against his neck, showing her appreciation for the gesture without acknowledging that's what it was. His arms slipped around her shoulders and he pulled her snug against him, slightly rocking them. He closed his eyes tight, willing his body to remain relaxed, even as his fear of losing her again swamped him. She pulled away, blithely unaware.

"Are you ready?" she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his. Bright blue eyes full of warmth returned her gaze.

"To curl up around my wife's delightfully warm little body? Always," he teased, releasing her from his arms after a swift touch of his lips to hers, then recapturing her hand for the trip back to the car.


	41. Chapter 41: Pieces of a Childhood

Laura woke shortly after noon. Rolling to her back, she stretched herself awake, muffling the groan when her ribs poked a reminder at her that they were still not quite healed. Next to her, Remington continued to slumber on. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she slid out of the bed, tucking the quilt back around him and sliding her pillow toward the arm searching for her, then laughed silently as he gathered it to his chest. Slipping on her robe, she left the room.

In the living room, her eyes were drawn to the mantle. They'd been here in his childhood home for nearly a day and yet had confined themselves almost exclusively to the small bedroom and kitchen. Now, her innate curiosity demanded to be sated. She began on the left side of the mantle picking up each picture and admiring it at length: Marcos and Elena on their wedding day; Elena holding each child after they were born; a picture of the family gathered in front of a Christmas tree. Towards the end of the mantle she froze, then with a gasp, reverently picked up the next picture. Stumbling to the couch, she sank down on it, staring.

The image was of a man and three boys, the man Marcos when he was much younger, the boys gathered around him, each holding aloft, proudly, a fish they had caught. Among them, Remington, standing next to Marcos's side, his thick black hair cut short, the black and white picture unable to hide his deep tan… or the joy lighting his eyes. Six months ago, they had not a single picture of Remington before he entered her life and now there were four. Four glimpses into the too few moments of security, safety, that he'd known in his childhood.

She fingered his image a final time, before laying the picture upon the coffee table then stood, looking around. Every instinct she had screamed at her that if there was one picture, there were likely more. With no small measure of guilt, that she firmly quashed, she rifled through the drawers in the coffee and end tables. Coming up empty handed, she straightened to full height and looked around the room, her eyes finally settling upon the buffet and hutch. Kneeling before it, she opened the doors, a wide smile crossing her face when she found it was filled with photo albums. Sitting on the floor, she dragged out two piles then spread them out before her.

Which is how Remington found her thirty minutes later. Shrugging on his robe as left the bedroom, he caught sight of her sitting amongst the pile of books, one perched on her lap. Leaning his back against the corner of the hallway wall, he propped a foot against it and crossed his arms, laughing silently to himself. _My wife, the consummate detective_ , he thought to himself. He knew the second she was aware that he was watching. Her back straightening, she dropped her face into her hands shaking her head, before turning to look over her shoulder at him. He laughed aloud, now, while he watched a blush steal across her skin. He raised a brow at her, making her scrunch her face towards him.

"I found a picture… on the mantle… I was just… I thought…" she stumbled, before shaking her head and dropping her face into her hands. "Oh, hell," she laughed. Still laughing, he crossed the room, and held his hand out to her. She looked from him to the albums, then back at him again.

"They'll be here when we get back, Laura," he pointed out, as he pulled her to her feet. She glanced at the albums again, clearly torn between what one might call duty and desire.

"Are there any more pictures of you?" she questioned.

"A fair number," he confirmed. "If I give you my word that we can sort through the albums the moment we return, would it help?" She let out a puff of frustrated air, drawing another laugh from him. "They've been here for two decades, Laura. I highly doubt they'll wander off in the next few hours."

"I know, but…" He gave her hand a tug, ushering her towards the bedroom.

"I never thought there would come a day I'd have to remind you of our motto, Laura," he chided her, finding far too much amusement in her reticence for her taste.

"Roselli is hardly business," she pointed out curtly, while pulling on a pair of slacks.

"Perhaps not Agency business, but personal business nonetheless," he pointed out as he pulled his black polo over his head.

"You're right," she acquiesced, buttoning her blouse. "It's just…" Remington bussed her on the cheek.

"I know. But just imagine the anticipation this afternoon as you eagerly count down the hours until we return home and you can peer upon my undeniably handsome visage," he teased, waggling his brows.

"That's what I love about you, Mr. Steele: your overwhelming modesty," she told him drily while rolling her eyes.

"Now, Miss Holt," he argued, while handing her out the bedroom door, "a less confident man may have found the hundreds of hours of posing before cameras to be far more than his psyche could handle. Imagine the detriment to the Agency had that been the case."

"Such nobility, such valor. However did you do it?" she asked with another eye roll.

They were both laughing as the door closed behind them.

* * *

Due to Laura's still injured ankle, rather than traversing the three-hundred-and-fifty steps descending down the caldera from Oia to the Bay, Remington drove them ever-downwards in the Roadster. Kicking her feet up on her door, she enjoyed the ride but found herself wishing he could open up the throttle and really see what the classic sports car could do.

They'd meandered the small shops throughout the afternoon, devoting a good deal of time to admiring the works of local artists sold there. Afterwards, they'd enjoyed an early dinner at Katinas, as planned, and now, they lazily strolled the beach as the sunset streaked the sky.

Shockingly, she'd found, her husband hadn't spent a great deal of time in any of the clothing stores, telling her in a comically snooty British accent that he much preferred the variety of haberdashers he'd amassed across the years. His antics had drawn a laugh of mirth from her, but now left her on the pensive side, the comment making another piece of the puzzle that was her husband fall into place.

For years, she'd ridiculed him in jest, pointed fingers in anger, about his demand for "a new suit now and again" and his penchant for Italian leather footwear. As was his way, he'd taken all the jabs, subtle and overt, in good humor. It was only in recent months that she'd recognized that she'd seriously missed the mark on this particular attribute of his. While certainly, he preferred fine undergarments, outside of that, his tastes when not in the office or in public where he strove to maintain the reputation of the suave and urbane "Remington Steele," he favored the casual. Around home he reached first for a pair of jeans and a cotton button down, or a pair of khakis and a polo. She'd been shocked the first time he'd pulled on a simple pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Or course, he'd never find her complaining, as her husband's body ensconced in casual clothes was something to be admired, often sending chills down her spine as she realized the remarkable specimen of a man in front of her was hers and hers alone.

Yet, what she'd found most…stunning… when the realization settled in was that for years she'd never once registered this inclination of his. She'd sat curled up on their couch one Friday night while Remington was at Monroe's for poker and had mulled the matter over. Their trips to Stanford, Acapulco, DeNada, Cannes, Malta, Las Vegas, their Mexican honeymoon – in all cases he'd shed the vestiges of "Remington Steele" in favor of the casual. And at home? Again, she been shocked to recall how often he'd opted for a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt.

The same went for his grooming habits, she concluded with surprise now. Before they'd begun routinely sharing their morning preparations, she'd assumed that he devoted a good deal of time to his personal grooming. After all, what else could account for his perfectly coiffed thick head of hair, the profile that rarely showed a sign of five o'clock shadow, and the always impeccable accessories worn with his clothing? Yet while it took her nearly twenty minutes each morning to blow dry straight her hair and apply a light touch of cosmetics to her face, he could be ready in a quarter of the time while looking like he'd just stepped from the pages of a magazine.

She found the notion that she, who hated to shop, might, at the end of the day, be more of a clothes horse than he. The idea that she might be the higher maintenance of the two left her laughing softly to herself.

"A drachma for your thoughts," he offered, breaking into her reverie. She surprised him when she stopped walking and instead turned into him. Automatically, his arms encircled her.

"I was thinking about your clothes," she told him honestly, drawing a bark of confused laugher from him.

"My clothes?" he asked, glancing down at his polo, jeans and tennis shoes. "Am I underdressed? Wearing mismatched socks? Have I created some horrible fashion faux pas by wearing the wrong color for a particular season?" he teased, as he swayed them side-to-side.

"No on the first two, and you'd have to ask someone far more fashion knowledgeable than I on the last." Absently, she ran a flat palm over his shoulder and down his chest. "When was the last time you pulled your tux out of the cobwebs and I wore a gown for a night on the town?" she asked, sidestepping a conversation she knew she'd never hear the end of should she tell him what was really on her mind. He frowned thoughtfully as he searched his memory.

"New York, perhaps?" She thought it over and shook her head.

"No, you wore a suit to Bernice's wedding, Tavern on the Green and the Four Seasons," she reminded him.

"The night we tailed Johnny to Bedard's," he answered with a grin, pleased that he'd recalled. To his surprise, she shook her head.

"That was business," she pointed out. He frowned again then searched further back in his memory.

"The Earl's reception!" he offered almost triumphantly, only to give a dissatisfied grunt immediately after the words left his mouth. "Good Lord, Laura, that was more than a year past." She raised her brows at him and nodded. "Well, we'll have to remedy that once we're home, won't we?"

"I think we will," she agreed. Then, for no explicable reason, she wrapped her arms around his back, and laid her head against his chest, hugging him to her.

"Ah, Laura," he murmured, nuzzling his chin against the top of her head. "What's going on in that mind of yours this evening, eh?" She shook her head against him, trying to sort out the feelings that had hit her like a tidal wave out of nowhere. "Talk to me, Laura," he urged.

"I don't know," she answered quietly, shaking her head again. "It's just that despite the fact Roselli's here, despite everything that's happened the last two weeks, even the nightmares…" She stumbled for a second. "…I'm just…happy, I guess. Happy that we stopped standing in our own way, that we have this." She tilted her head back to look at him. "Happy that I have you."

Her words left his heart flopping at her feet. Embracing her head in his hands, he drew her lips up to meet his own for a long, soft kiss that conveyed the emotion he was feeling. Wrapping her in his arms again, they stood that way until the sun made its final descent into the horizon.

* * *

Despite the early hour when they arrived back to the house, Laura and Remington took turns taking showers and dressing for bed in their normal ensembles: He in a pair of silk pajama bottoms, she in the matching shirt. Wrapping her robe around herself, she poured each of them a glass of wine in the kitchen and carried the glasses back into the living room, setting them on the coffee table, before settling herself back down among the piles of photo albums. That is where he found her when he emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and robe hanging open. He sat down behind her, then drew her back until she sat between his legs, her back pressed to the chest. Reaching around her, he plucked an album out from among those scattered around her and handed it to her.

"This is a start," he told her, his breath warming her ear as he spoke. She turned her head to give him a bright smile, then returned her attention to the album, eagerly opening the cover. She slowly made her way through several pages of pictures depicting the Androkus children when she stopped with a gasp. The picture in front of her was of a family gathering. She easily picked out Zeth, Christos and even little Melina. But her eyes were drawn to the young boy standing in the background, away from the mix.

"Zeth's fourteenth," he filled her in.

She nodded, but didn't speak, her attention riveted on his image, running a finger over it. His hair was long, too long, and despite his clothes she could see that he was painfully thin, his normally fair complexion almost sallow. It was the look in his eyes, however, that left her heart hammering. Fear, confusion, and underneath it all a deep, abiding longing.

"You look so afraid," she noted, sadly, the ache in her heart betrayed by her voice. Behind her, he squirmed and cleared his throat.

"Yes… well… Zeth's birthday was but a couple weeks after I'd arrived," he said, as though it explained it all. And it did.

Two turns of a page later, and his hand reached out to pause her. He tapped his finger on a class picture. It took less than a second for her to locate him among the thirty or so children shown in the class picture. Standing in the back row, his hair had by then been shorn short. He stood tall, shoulders back, chin tipped up, a smile spread across his lips. To the world, it would appear that he was a confident boy, comfortable in his surroundings. But the person who knew him better than anyone else, saw the strain of unease around his eyes.

"You're uncomfortable," she commented.

"Mmmm," he hummed, agreeing. "School was quite a foreign affair for me. I'd had little formal education as I was being shuffled between the relatives, then only a very short time in the school yard during my brief stay at the orphanage. It took me a bit to settle in… not long, just a bit of time." She laughed softly, drawing him to raise his brows behind her, confused.

"You… in parochial school. Who would have thought?" He tsked his tongue at her.

"I'll have you know, I was quite the model student," he admonished. This time it was her turn to hum her acknowledgment.

"Mmmmm. So Marcos told me," she told him, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze before moving on, "as he did about this," she told him pointing to another picture. In it, he and Elena were bent over a school book at the very dining room table sitting nearby. His eyes were bright and eager while they worked, while Elena gazed upon him with pride and fondness.

"He did?" Remington asked, unsure if he was more surprised by the compliment or that she and Marcos had discussed him. Laura continued to thumb through the pages.

"Yes, he did," was all she contributed, before her attention wandered from him.

She bit her lower lip, as she admired a picture of him on the beach, helping the much younger Melina build a sand castle, while Zeth and Christos wrestled in the waves behind them. It was clear he was explaining something to the little girl, his finger pointing but what captivated her was the gentle patience on his face and the little girls adoring eyes looking up at him, enraptured by whatever it was he was saying.

"You didn't want to horse around with the boys?" she asked, suspecting his answer, before he said it.

"Lina was the pesky little sister to Zeth and Christos. She'd begged them to help her build a sandcastle, but they wanted to go shake off some of that energy they always carried with them." She felt his careless, dismissive shrug against her shoulder, making her smile. Even then, children had been drawn to him, sensing his innate patience, kindness.

"So you stayed," she noted quietly.

"I enjoyed myself, so it's not as though it was a sacrifice." He shrugged again. That he didn't realize how much it would have meant to Melina that someone had cared enough to sit alongside her in the sand, only added to her belief he'd make a remarkable father one day. Shifting slightly in front of him, she turned her head and brushed her lips against his, then just as casually turned back around and continued on through the album, her disappointment evident by her slumped shoulders when she found no further pictures of him. With a soft chuckle, he rifled through the photo albums and plucked out another. "Don't get your hopes up too much, love. There are a few more, but remember I didn't quite make it here a year." Heedless of his warning, she opened the album hungrily. Shortly, her lilting laughter trickled across the living room.

"You really did play soccer!" she said, delighted. "I thought Marcos might have been teasing when he said you did."

"Football, Laura. I played football," he corrected, snootily.

"Same difference," she retorted, staring at the picture showing him in football jersey, shorts, and shin guards. His hair was slightly longer in this picture and that stubborn lock of hair fell over his forehead. A passel of team mates and opponents straggled behind as the ball sailed off his foot towards the goal.

"Hmph," he breathed, clearly disputing her assertion. "I'll have you know I was quite good. Played center forward. Managed a hat trick or three during the season. We were league champions that year," he informed her proudly, turning the page and pointing to a picture of him holding a trophy high. She glanced back and smiled at him, then flipped further through the pages.

"Your baptism," she said, surprised.

"I told you I'd been baptized," he reminded her, leaning his chin on her shoulder, "likely many a time. Here, my baptismal certificate bears the name of Xenos Androkus." Another turn of the page left her gasping and he felt her body tremble in reaction to the picture: A crowd gathered around the dining room table, the camera centering on a young Remington, his eyes wide and amazed. A younger version of Marcos stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder, beaming with pride, while a younger Elena sat a cake, ablaze with candles on the table.

"Your birthday party?" she breathed. "How did they know?"

"They didn't, at least not the exact date as I didn't either. When they'd asked, early in my days here, I told them I believed it to be sometime in September." She nodded, then running her finger across the picture a last time, continued through the pages, supremely disappointed when no more pictures of him appeared. It took a minute, but she realized there wouldn't be, as he'd run shortly after that birthday. She lay fully back against him, smiling when he circled her with his arms and grazed his lips over her cheek.

"Do you think Elena and Marcos would allow me to have copies of these made?" she asked, her hand running over the cover of the album before seeking out his hand, her fingers seeking his ring.

"I'm sure they would. Planning to start an album of your own?"

"Something like that," she answered, vaguely. Picking up the first album, she leaned forward and placed the two albums on the coffee table near the framed picture she'd found earlier.

"Feeling sentimental then, are you?" he teased. She turned to face him, taking his face in both of her hands.

"They're _you. Of course_ I'm feeling sentimental." She smiled at Remington's toothy grin and a hand moved to sweep through his hair. "Six months ago we had not a single picture of you before you became Remington Steele. Now look at what we have: your baby picture; a picture of you as a toddler; a school picture; you playing soccer; on the beach; fishing; a birthday; you as a teen." Her hand slipped down to lay against his chest. "A childhood, Remington. _Your childhood._ Something we can show our son one day and say 'You look just like your father.'"

He wasn't sure if it was the reference to _their_ son, her inference she hoped that son would look like him, or merely the idea of being able to share proof of his existence during those years to his child… but whichever the cause, or all of them combined, left his heart hammering in his chest. Running his hands through his hair, he stood abruptly.

"Would you mind putting away the albums?" he asked her.

Laura looked at him, her surprise at his sudden disconnection written all over her face, but she agreed by rote. Her eyes watching him as he wound open the jalousie windows, then followed him as he bent to start a fire before walking out of the room. She'd just put the last of the albums back in place when he returned to the room, his arms overloaded with bedding. Spreading out two thick comforters on the floor, he left then returned again with an armful of pillows. Dropping them on the bedding, he stood looking at her almost questioningly as he rubbed a hand across his face. Before she could ask what was on his mind, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily.

"I need you, Laura," Remington murmured against her lips, when he paused to take a breath, his lips covering hers again immediately. When she felt his body shaking under her hands she recognized his need for what it was. Her hands skimmed down her pajama top, loosening the buttons, then tossed it aside, before she reached for the sash on his robe, giving it a firm tug, then pushing the robe off over his shoulders.

Warm lips trailed over her neck, a mouth exploring her taste, before settling below her ear, as he sought to arouse her as quickly as he could. The tug of his mouth against her collarbone, the nip of his teeth left her gasping, her hands moving quickly to rid him of the remainder of his clothing. As soon as the last garment was free, he tugged her down to the comforters with him, urging her to her side. He was desperate to feel, touch, taste her all at once. Lifting her leg over his hip, his hand slipped between them, checking to see if she was ready for him and moaned aloud when he found her already hot and slick.

"Babe…" he panted, "I'm sorry… I can't…" Her hand reached back and feathered over his hip before clutching a cheek of his bottom, urging him forward.

"It's alright, Rem," she managed to assure him, the naked need in his voice only ramping up her own desire. "Honesty in our bed, rememb—" She gasped, unable to finish the sentence when he positioned himself then in one thrust buried himself fully inside of her.

Laura's entire body twitched at the sudden fullness and she concentrated on making her muscles relax, knowing by the fast, harsh breaths against her neck that Remington's control was barely hanging on by a thread as he willed his body to wait for her. His hand swept across her stomach and downwards, parting her wet folds, then when his fingers found the bundle of nerves that controlled everything, searched almost frantically for the rhythm that would relax her and then take her into oblivion with him. Needing more, his other hand sought out a breast, teasing its sensitive peak while his mouth rediscovered that place between shoulder and collarbone that drove her mad, to settle in, to suckle, to nibble. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his bum, and he let loose a staccato breath when he felt her muscles at last relax, her body wholly welcoming his presence within.

He quickly found his rhythm, keeping his strokes short and fast, leaving Laura writhing within his arms, gasping, while her hand sought contact with any part of his body it could reach. He held on to his tentative control, seeking more of her skin to feast on as he felt her body beginning to tense. But it was the words he could so seldom find that proved her breaking point.

"I love you, Laura," he whispered achingly against her ear.

"Oh God, Rem," she managed to babble in the moment before any ability to speak was obliterated. His words shot like a jolt of electricity from her heart to her core, her body jerking in a shattering climax, as she clutched at his arm. The instant her muscles contracted around him, his fragile control snapped and with a final thrust buried himself fully within her, moaning her name again and again while his arms wrapped around her, clasping her body tightly against his.

They lay in silence for a short time, still connected and trying to catch their breaths, his mouth roaming along her neck and shoulder, her hand stroking his arm. When he finally flexed his hips to slip gently from her warmth, his fingers nudged her insistently to her back. Stretching his length over top of hers, holding his weight on bent arms, his fingers toyed with her hair as he kissed her at length with those tender, searching kisses that made her toes curl. With a quiet hum of pleasure against his lips, she let her hands feather over his body, slowly, languorously, from bum to head, then back again. For long minutes they enjoyed one another's closeness, as Laura gave him the time she knew he needed to work through things in his mind. When their lips at last parted, he continued to finger her hair, as he touched his forehead to hers.

"Are you ready to talk about it?" she asked quietly, her fingers skimming through the hair on the side of his head.

"Haven't quite figure it out myself," he told her, lifting his head and giving her a wolfish leer. "I've been a bit distracted by my lovely wife." She studied him for a long beat then smiled and gave him a quick kiss, before nudging his shoulder. He rolled to his back, then propped himself up on an elbow, brows raised in question.

"I'm going to take a bath. Care to join me?" she asked, rising. His brows furrowed.

"It's quite a small tub," he pointed out. She raised her brows at him in challenge.

"And here I thought you took a great deal of pride in your creativity, Mr. Steele," she tossed over her shoulder, as she walked away. He eyed her nude form appreciatively. The thought of enjoying his wife's slippery form as it was immersed in warm water was far too much for a mere mortal to resist. He vaulted to his feet and gave chase.

"That I do, Mrs. Steele, that I do."


	42. Chapter 42: Captured

Friday, October 31, 1986

Remington started awake, instantly on alert. He and Laura had returned to their makeshift bed after their bath, and she still lay slung halfway over his body. Brushing her hair back over her shoulder, he peered down at her and saw she still slumbered peacefully. Whatever had startled him in his sleep had not been another of her nightmares. Bussing her softly on the top of her head, he eased out from underneath her, smiling as he rose to his feet when she mumbled in her sleep, discontent, a hand searching for him. Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, he wondered how his life had suddenly become this full… and how long it would last. If life had taught him anything, it was that he was undeserving of such… joy.

He shook off his morbid thoughts as a shiver skittered down his spine, the same sensation, he realized now, that had awakened him. Standing still, he listened to the sounds of the house, unable to identify, readily, anything amiss. He ran a hand through his hair, as those old instincts that had allowed him to survive as a child of the streets kicked in full force. He felt eyes upon him, never hearing a single sound, and spun on his heels, prepared to defend, only for a blinding pain to pierce through his skull as lights exploded behind his eyes. Taken off his feet by the blow, he hit his hands and knees before his arms gave way as well, and he collapsed partially atop their makeshift bed with a groan.

"Laura… run," he managed to gasp out.

The sound of Remington landing on the floor stirred Laura from her sleep. His words had her lunging to a sitting position, searching for him. Seeing him lying prone nearby, she scrambled to him on hands and knees.

"Rem… Remington," she called out to him, grasping his head in her hands trying to get him to look at her, shuddering when she felt wet warmth on her fingers. Fully aware of the feet within her peripheral vision, she ignored them, using all her strength to roll her husband over, then once accomplished used her fingers to try to find the source of the blood.

"Laura, _go,_ " Remington groaned.

"Not on your life," she bit out, yanking the case off the pillow and pressing it to the gash just above his hairline.

"You heard him, Laura, it's time to go," Roselli told her, watching, amused, as she tended to her husband's wound.

"There's not a chance in hell I'm going _anywhere_ with you, Roselli," she spat out. She struggled against the man when he reached out and grasped a hand around her wrist, pulling her to her feet, then cried out at the strain on the still healing shoulder. Her eyes scanned the vicinity for any form of weapon, landing on the wine bottle still sitting on the coffee table. Thrusting herself forward, catching Roselli off guard, her hand grasped the wine bottle and she spun, the bottle connecting with his cheekbone. She smirked with satisfaction at his howl, prying herself from his grip as he reached for his cheek. She'd nearly made it to the kitchen when she heard the cock of a gun.

"It's you or him, your choice," the man informed her, his voice ice cold with rage.

Laura turned around slowly and saw the barrel of the gun pointed at Remington, who was struggling to push himself up to all fours. One look at Roselli's face told her it was not an idle threat. Propelling herself forward, she placed herself between the gun and her husband.

"Laura, don't," Remington pleaded on a gasp. She shook her head vigorously, then straightened to her full height, chin tipping upwards, defiantly.

"Me. I'll go," she told him, her voice hard, determined. Roselli waved his gun toward the door.

"Move," he ordered.

She took a last look at her husband, aching at the fear in the blue eyes that met hers. "I'm sorry," she told him quietly, then with a shudder turned and walked to the front door.

Once they cleared the doorway and shut Remington inside, alone, Roselli released the round from the chamber and tucked the gun into his waistband at his back. Grabbing Laura by the back of her neck, his fingers digging painfully into tissue and tendons, he propelled her towards the left.

"Where are we going?" she demanded to know.

"We're gonna get off this island, for a start," he bit out. "This way," he directed, shoving her towards a path on the left. _Amoudi Bay_ , she realized. On that heels of that acknowledgment came the awareness that her only chance of escape lay in the terrain before they reached the steps leading down. There was no possible way for her to navigate that descent with her injured ankle while trying to flee. On that thought, she dug her feet into the ground, causing them to stumble. His fingers sunk even further into her neck.

"Your little games are going to get you hurt," he warned menacingly.

"I told you that I'd go with you, but I never said I'd make it easy," she spit out, planting her feet again and reaching up to try to pry his hands from her neck. Struggling with him, she dug her nails into his hand as deeply as she could and clawed him, drawing blood. Roselli hissed in a sharp breath, shoving her away from him. Propelled forward, she tripped, and could not stop the momentum of her body as it rolled down the sloping path, coming to an abrupt halt when her body slammed into the low slung wall near the top of the stairs. Skittering to her feet with a groan, she sprinted to the right of the stairs.

"Laura!" Roselli bellowed. "Stop!" She froze when she heard the gun in his hand cock. "I'll do it, Laura. I'll kill you before I let him win…"

* * *

At the sight of seeing Laura leave the house with Roselli, adrenaline surged through Remington's blood stream. With strength born of sheer will, he staggered to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. Snatching at the beeper lying there, he depressed the button that would send out a call to dozens like it across Oia. Not even a half dozen seconds had passed before he heard the rear bedroom door, the one concealing the hidden passage to the adjoining house, slam open. Zeth, Christos, Mikos, Alex and Marcos surged into the house, guns drawn. Remington's fear filled eyes met Marcos's.

"He's got her," he gasped. Outside he heard the whine of the siren at the firehouse building to a crescendo.

"Do you have any idea which way?" Marcos, voice short, demanded to know.

"No, none," Remington panted, then shoved himself away from the island towards the front door. As he moved unsteadily, he searched his mind and found the answer. "He'll try to get her off the island. _The harbor_ ," he emphasized, slinging open the front door, and finding his footing, bolted towards the path.

"Xenos, you're injured, stay,"' Marcos commanded. "The family will return your Laura to you."

"Not on your bloody life," he answered without thought, dashing down the path to his left.

"Spread out," Marcos commanded his sons, nephews and family gathering along the walkway. "Every possible route to the harbor is to be covered. Go!"

Zeth, Christos, Mikos and Marcos followed in Remington's wake, while groups of three and fourr split off in different directions. Above, near the apex of the island, the siren continued to wail. From somewhere in the distance below them, Remington heard Roselli yell his wife and partner's name.

"Laura!" he shouted, her name torn from his throat, as he picked up his pace and headed in the direction from where the call of her name had sounded.

* * *

That place in Laura, where fear, guilt, and self-doubt had been dwelling since Roselli's kidnapping of her, ignited with fury. She turned on her heel to face him, the intensity of her anger pinking her skin and making her body shake.

"Let him win?!" she spat out. " _Let him win?!"_ Her voice rose with each syllable. "How many times do I have to tell you that you were _never in the damned race_! Look at you," she waved her arm in his direction, "A misogynist of the highest order, using your fists, _a gun_ , to try to control a woman that wants _nothing to do with you_." Her voice continued to rise. "How many women have you done this to? Has it ever worked? I know for _a fact_ that it didn't work with the woman in Mexico. How many other women have realized you're nothing but a pathetic, little man?"

"Shut up, Laura!" he screamed at her, taking a step closer to her, the gun only inches from her chest. "Move!" She took in his crazed eyes, and shook her head vehemently, lips tightening in anger.

Remington heard Roselli's commands loud and clear and he plowed towards the voices. _Oh God, Laura, please..._

"No!" she shouted at him. "What do you hope to accomplish, Roselli? Even if you manage to get me off this island, I'll never be yours, you'll never win. Remington's the _only man_ I have _ever_ given the right to call me theirs _. He wins!"_

Hearing her words, Remington's heart nearly stopped in his chest, knowing that after weeks of being stalked, then kidnapped by Roselli, she'd reached her breaking point, using that sharp tongue of hers to filet a lunatic. _Oh God, Laura, stop, please…._ He pushed himself even harder to get to her before it was too late.

" _Move,"_ Roselli screamed again, taking another step forward, pressing the gun against her chest.

" _No_!" she screamed back at him. "You'll have to shoot me first." With that, her foot came down hard on his foot, and planting her palm into his injured eye she shoved him hard, bolting away from him as he howled. Roselli raised his arm and took aim at her fleeing back.

"Laura, get down," Remington screamed, a split second before the retort of the gunshot rang through the air. He watched in abject terror as Laura went down hard on the ground, then threw himself at Roselli bodily, Roselli's arm jerking upwards with the impact, as he fired the second round. The two men hit the ground hard, the gun bouncing out of Roselli's hand. "Laura, okay?" Remington yelled at her, as he and Roselli wrestled. Zeth, Christos, Marcos and Mikos arrived just steps behind him, choosing to stand back, to allow Remington to handle the matter unless they should need to intervene.

"Okay," she yelled back.

That one word set loose all the pent up rage that Remington had been tamping down since Roselli had insinuated himself into their lives. Flipping the archaeologist cum INS agent cum stalker and kidnapper to his back, Remington's fists pummeled the man. "I warned you…" a fist landed in a nose, blood spurting "…what would happen…" in a mouth, Remington watching with satisfaction as a lip split and blood poured "…if you ever touched…" in a cheek, watching as the recent injury there opened up "… my wife again."

The Androkus men watched with satisfaction as blow after blow landed on the man that had abused their Laura.

Laura scrambled to her feet where she had landed, and raced over to where Remington continued to pummel Roselli.

"Remington, stop," she shouted at him, "You're going to kill him." If he heard her, he never so much as flinched in recognition. Desperately, she turned to Marcos. "Please…" she begged, terrified that they'd be rid of Roselli only to find Remington instead behind bars. Seeing the fear in her eyes, Marcos nodded to Zeth and Christos.

"Enough," he stated, his order clear.

Zeth and Christos stepped into the fray, each of them grabbing one of Remington's arms, to drag him off the man, while Mikos and Alex, who had just arrived, pinned Roselli to the ground. Remington struggled against them.

"Enough, Xenos!" Marcos barked. "You've had your piece of vindication. Now, we turn him over to the police so that he may live the rest of his life caged like the animal he is." Turning to the crowd of family that had gathered around, then laying his eyes on Stavros directed, "Go, call the police and bring them here." Stavros nodded, then turned to climb the slopes of the caldera towards the nearest home.

Remington paid Marcos no heed, continuing to buck against the arms of his brothers, holding him back. Laura stepped to him, laying one hand on his chest and weaving the other through his hair.

"Remington, it's over. I'm okay, _we're okay._ " She took another step forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's over, Mr. Steele." Her entire body shuddered at the realization that it really was truly over. It was in feeling her body shake against him that his rage flowed away. Sensing the change, Zeth and Christos let loose his arms, and he immediately wrapped them around her, one hand burying itself in her hair as he pressed his face to her neck and inhaled deeply. This time, it was he that began shaking, dragging her down with him as his knees gave way. Zeth and Christos managed to grab him and right him before he hit the ground.

"Remington?" she questioned, stepping to him and looking at his eyes, eyes that peered back at her, unfocused. Regardless, he held up a hand, indicating he was fine. She shook her head at him. "We need to get him back to the house. Can you help me?" she asked, addressing Zeth and Christos.

"Of course," Zeth answered, wrapping Remington's arms over his own shoulders while Christos did likewise.

The trip back to the house was challenging as Remington struggled to keep his feet under him while his head swam. Zeth and Christos were both breathing heavily when they deposited their brother on the bar stool Laura directed them to, standing close while she gathered a bowl and wash cloth.

"Is there a hospital nearby?" she asked, as she wrung out the washcloth and carefully began dabbing the dried blood smeared across the face, trying to uncover the wound so she could check it.

"Yes, about five kilom—" Zeth began.

"No," Remington answered, wearily flicking his wrist, denouncing the suggestion.

"I'm fairly certain you have a concussion," she noted.

"Undoubtedly. Tends to happen when one takes a gun to the head," he managed to quip.

"And you may need stitches," she continued.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, eh?"

"I really think you need—"

" _What I need_ is to be right here at the moment," he interrupted, laying his hands on her sides and rubbing them up and down from ribs to hips, assuring himself that she was there, safe. When his hands tugged at her hips, she tilted her head at him, then dropping the cloth in the bowl, allowed him to pull her to stand between his legs. Wrapping his arms around her, he dropped his head onto her shoulder, his face pressed against her neck, then inhaled deeply. Automatically, she reached around him, one hand pressing against the back of his neck, the other stroking his back. With a look to Christos, Laura silently asked that they be given some privacy. With a nod towards Zeth, both men left the room.

"Remington," she said his name in almost a whisper, "we're okay." His arms tightened further around her.

"I know. I just need a minute," he answered just as quietly. True to his word, shortly after a minute elapsed, he straightened, then pressing a kiss to her forehead, eased down off the bar stool and walked slowly from the room.

"Where are you going?" she called to him, perplexed.

"To shower, so that you can rest your mind about this scratch and put any notions of the hospital to rest." She frowned at his tone, then shook her head. It had been a tense night, so she figured he was entitled to some moodiness.

Stepping into the living room, she bade Zeth and Christos good night, with her sincere gratitude for their help on the evening. Already the bloodied bedding had been folded up, the pillows laid on the couch with Zeth promising to have Calista clean the bedding and that it would be returned the following day. Locking the door behind them, she looked around the room. By the room's appearance no one else would know what transpired there that evening, but a shiver scurried down her spine at the memories. Shaking it off, she retrieved a clean pajama top of Remington's from the bedroom, then stripping down in the kitchen, used a washcloth to clean herself up. By the time she slipped on the shirt, and cleaned the kitchen, she met Remington in the hallway as he left the bathroom. Seeing her eyes flick immediately to his hairline, he resigned himself to the fact that she'd demand to examine the wound before she even entertained the idea of sleeping. To that end, he sat down on the edge of his childhood bed without being asked.

"Given the amount of bleeding, it's really not bad at all," Laura told him, fingering back his hair. "It doesn't look like it would require stitches, at least. Seems you're off the hook," she told him, ruffling his hair with her hand, trying to draw a smile from him. What she got, instead, was a half-hearted attempt, as maneuvered himself to lay on his back on the bed. Taking care to cover his legs with the afghan, she slipped in next to him, pulling the quilt up around them, before snuggling into his side, her head resting just below his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. He wrapped his arm around her, while his other hand buried itself in her hair.

"I'll be fine after a bit of shut eye," he answered vaguely, bussing her on the top of the head.

In short order, his slackened hold on her told Laura he'd fallen asleep. Settling in further, she worried and waited.


	43. Chapter 43: Healng

The early vestiges of dawn had only just breeched the horizon when Laura awakened from a light doze. Feeling Remington's body jerk under hers again, she pushed herself to an elbow to peer down at him. Seeing his lips move and his brows furrowed, she reached up and threaded a hand through his hair. At the contact he started awake, bleary, fear-filled eyes landing on his wife.

"I'm okay, Rem. We're okay," she assured him, pressing her lips to each of his cheeks. His body shuddered under hers and he reached up and took her head in his hands, drawing her lips down to touch his own. Her familiar touch and taste left him exhaling deeply.

Rolling to her side, she wrapped his arms tightly around herself, as he spooned his body around hers. Lacing the fingers of one hand with his, her other hand stroked his arm comfortingly, easing him back into sleep once he was assured of her presence.

Sleep never arrived for her, as she lay tucked against him, her hand continuing its caress as she silently berated herself for having been so bogged down in her own responses to her kidnapping that she'd forgotten to maintain a gauge on how Remington was handling all that had and was transpiring. The events of the last month had fed into his greatest fear: losing her. Except for his uncharacteristic show of machoism, commanding that he would not allow her to use herself as bait, and his momentary lapse into darkness as he tried to figure out on his own what she'd endured at Roselli's hands, he'd been steady as a rock since he and Murphy had found her. It had been too easy to forget that of the two of them, he was the one with the fewest of barriers around his heart, that he could be wounded easily, especially when it came to her.

When she was certain he slept deeply, seemingly dreamlessly, she slipped from the bed. Wrapping her robe around herself, she found her way to the kitchen, starting coffee to brew. Once she had a cup in hand, she moved to the living room, curling up in a corner of the couch. She drew in a deep, sharp breath as the realization settled over her that while he'd been desperate for her to fill in the blanks of what had happened to her while she was in Roselli's hands, that not once she'd asked about what he'd gone through during those days. She searched her mind for any details he'd shared, and could only come up with two: his beating arranged by Roselli and subsequent arrival at the loft to find her gone, and that he'd already figured out that she was in Manzanillo before her first clue was discovered.

 _And pictures he and Murphy found at the loft. I never pursued asking him what pictures he was speaking of,_ she thought to herself, drawing her to release an aggravated grunt. Her eyes were drawn to the kitchen, where the lone phone in the house could be found. _It's the middle of the afternoon in Denver. Murphy should be at the office._ With that thought in mind, she returned to the kitchen and with the assistance of an international operator, was shortly listening to the phone ring on the other side of the line. After announcing herself to Murphy's receptionist, she slid onto a bar stool while waiting for him to come on the line.

"Laura, it's been almost two weeks. Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you?" Murphy's strained voice crossed the Atlantic, forgoing his usual greeting to her. She scrunched her face as another round of guilt assaulted her.

"I'm sorry, Murph," she told him sincerely. "I wasn't thinking." She heard his deep exhale on the other side of the line.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have jumped on you like that," he apologized now, his voice softening. "How are you doing, pal?"

"Healing," she answered simply. "I imagine Remington and I will be going home in the next day or two." Murphy rubbed the back of his neck, relieved.

"And Roselli? Any word?"

"He's here in Greece," she began, only to be interrupted when Murphy flew to his feet back in Denver, shouting into the line.

"He's what?! You were supposed to be safe there, Laura! I can be there by tomorrow this—"

"There's no need," she interrupted him this time, speaking calmly. "He was captured last night. It's over." She heard his heavy exhale again, as he flopped back down in his chair.

"Thank God," he said vehemently, his relief palpable in his voice.

"Murph," she paused to take a deep breath, "I need to know what happened when Roselli had me." Murphy rubbed the back of his neck again while frowning, confused.

"You don't remember?" he asked, damning Roselli again. The doctors had said the drugs might impact her memory, but to completely obliterate it?

"Not to me," she shook her head as though he could see the action. "To Remington. The pictures in the loft… finding me gone… the search. What happened?" Murphy leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows against his desk.

"Steele hasn't told you?" he hedged.

"In all fairness, I haven't asked. I've… we've… been so caught up in what happened to me then working to trap Roselli…" She let out a low growl. "I wasn't thinking, Murph. I didn't stop to think even for a second about what he went through, how it's affected him," she berated herself.

"Laura, you can't blame yourself for that," he consoled. She swept his words away mentally with a flick of her hand.

"Regardless, I need to know. What happened, Murph?" He fell silent on the other side of the line as he leaned back in his chair again, scratching at his cheek as he thought things through.

"If he slept at all while you were missing, I'd be surprised," he told her cautiously. "Let's just put it this way, pal. I've given you a hard time about Steele since the second he traipsed into our lives. But after seeing the hell he went through while you were missing, I have not a single doubt in my mind that not only does he love you, but he would give up his life to keep you safe."

Instead of finding the words comforting, as she was sure Murphy meant for them to be, they only set off more alarm bells in her head. Whatever had gone on, for it to sway Murphy to now stand firmly in support of Remington…

"I need specifics… please," she asked as her fingers found her left brow and began to knead.

"Uh… Laura… you know how I feel about you and that I'd do just about anything for you, but not this. He's earned the right to tell his own story. If you want details, you're going to have to get them from him," he told her, regretfully but making it clear he wouldn't budge on the matter. Murphy rarely put his foot down with her, but when he did, he was unmovable.

"Give Sherry and the boys my love, will you?"

"Of course. Laura, are we okay?" he asked, concern permeating the words.

"We're fine. I'll call you when we get back to LA, okay?"

"Alright. I'll talk to you then, partner."

Laura hung up the phone and issued a string of creative curses under her breath. _So much for that,_ she groaned to herself. She'd hoped to get enough information out of Murphy to direct her conversation with Remington. Empty handed, she'd have to find a new approach. Picking up the phone, she dialed again.

* * *

Remington rolled to his side, his arm reaching out to draw Laura's body back against him. Finding only cool sheets under his fingers, he rolled back to his back and shook his head. The smell of coffee wafting throughout the small house gave him a good idea where she'd gotten off to. Rolling out of bed and getting to his feet, he slung on his robe leaving it hanging open as he made his way to the kitchen. A quick glance towards the stove showed what he presumed was tea steeping in a pot. As tempting as it was, he was drawn to the far more alluring sight of his lovely wife, leaning against the island, propped up against her elbows, sipping a cup of coffee. Stepping up behind her, he slipped one arm around her waist, while with his other hand, he swept her hair back over her shoulder to press a sweet kiss against her neck.

"Good morning, Mrs. Steele," he greeted her, his breath warming her ear and sending a shiver down her spine. He grinned at her reaction and planted another kiss against her neck before turning around to pour himself a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," she returned, while turning around and leaning back against the counter, watching him overtop the rim of her coffee cup. She couldn't help but admire his physique as he turned to face her, tea in hand, leaning against the counter opposite her. Seeing her fingers flex against her coffee cup, he gave her a knowing smile.

"See something you like, Mrs. Steele?" She flashed him a coy little smile.

"Perhaps." He chuckled low in his throat.

"You're quite welcome to peruse at your leisure," he suggested. She allowed her hungry gaze to slowly roam from his neck to hips, tossing a smug little smirk in his direction when a demanding part of his manhood twitched hard against his pajama bottoms. Setting down his cup of tea, he took a long step towards her, grasping her hips in his hands and pulling her forward. His head descended, lips finding hers and grazed on their fullness.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Steele?" she asked teasingly, running a single finger along the path her eyes had just traveled.

"Perhaps," he answered, echoing her earlier reply. He lowered his head to explore her lips once more, to only find air as Laura scooted under his arm and away from him.

"I'm sure we'll find time for that once we're underway," she assured him, her eyes flicking to the picnic basket that had hence gone unnoticed by him. A hand lifted to scratch his head.

"Bit early for a picnic, isn't it?" he inquired, perplexed.

"I disagree. By the time we drop anchor, I think the timing will be close to perfect." She waited until he caught the meaning of her words, then returned his smile. His eyes skimmed down her body. _Ahhh, explains the jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes then,_ he thought, rolling his eyes in his mind that he didn't take notice of her attire beforehand. She laughed while he continued to look her over, then stepping behind him, gave him a little shove towards the bedroom. "Go, get ready. The sea awaits."

Laura watched Remington as he padded from the room, his chuckle following in his wake. Resuming her position against the counter, she closed her eyes as she sipped her coffee.

Remington's ability to bounce back from difficult events, quite literally overnight, was one of the traits she'd admired most about him, if not occasionally envied or even used against him. In the midst of the moment his mood could turn dark and brooding, yet the next day it was as although all had been forgotten. For the man who lived each day in the present, by all appearances, nothing seemed able to keep his naturally upbeat, teasing nature at bay for more than a day.

It wasn't until he'd disappeared after she'd ended them a year and half prior, that she'd understood there were some events he couldn't shake loose, no matter how well he concealed them, carrying them buried deep in his heart like the scars left by his childhood. Westfield – she never once saw even the slightest of hints that he was aware of his role in her ending them, then. Her constant demands for his name – whether irritated by her demands or amused, he'd seemingly shaken them off, only to find he'd carried those constant demands as more proof that he'd never have, didn't deserve, the life and family he craved. Her decision in Cannes of no mixing business and pleasure he appeared to handle the decision with such ready acceptance, that it had nearly solidified in her mind that he'd never seen them as much more than a roll in the hay, making it far too easy for her to dismiss the naked longing in his eyes that he'd been unable to disguise at times.

It had been after London, or more specifically during the Cranston debacle, that he'd stopped hiding behind his affable personality. When she'd failed to come to the jail to visit him after his wrongful arrest, he'd fretted and stewed throughout the long night. The following morning when she'd arrived to pick him up after Mildred had arranged bail via Keyes and Vigilance Insurance, he hadn't bothered to pretend all was right in their world.

* * *

 _ **"You didn't want to see me."**_

 _ **"That isn't true."**_

 _ **"It is true, I can feel it. Something happened when you found out about the robbery, didn't it? Your trust in me wavered, just a little bit perhaps."**_

 _ **"No."**_

 _ **"Once a thief, always a thief. Isn't that what went through your mind? Hmmm? Laura?"**_

* * *

She could tick off numerous instances of when he'd addressed fear, worry and anger head on: At the Downtown Motel, when they'd been held hostage by Dancer and his gang at Christmas, at the Spa, when she'd lost her mind in the glare of the spotlight, the Gray case… the list went on. That he was resorting to old habits now told her whatever had happened while she was missing had rocked him to the core and the survival mechanisms that had kept him alive for three decades were carrying him through now.

He would not regress… she would not regress… _they_ would not regress into prior patterns. Not because of Roselli. Not on her watch.

Even more so, she'd not stand by while Remington was quashing down the toll the days she was missing were taking on him.

 _After all, all's fair, right, Holt?_ She reminded herself silently. _He didn't allow me to hide away from him and he won't hide from me now._

She smiled at her husband as he exited the bedroom, dressed in a pair of jeans, a loose, button up, long-sleeved, white shirt and a pair of tennis shoes. After a quick swipe of his lips to her cheek, he plucked the picnic basket off of the kitchen counter.

"Ready, love?" he asked, giving her a toothy grin.

"I am," she answered, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of his hand pressed lightly against the small of her back. Picking up the two windbreakers dropped off along with the picnic basket by Melina, they left the house, closing the door behind them

* * *

They'd sailed the open waters for nearly two hours, before concentrating on finding a cove with some privacy in which to drop anchor. They'd been underway only a few minutes before it had become necessary for them to pull on the matching windbreakers Melina had supplied. While it was a slightly crisp sixty-nine degrees out, with the wind whipping around them it was downright cold. Remington couldn't help but smile at the picture they presented in those matching jackets – quite the married couple.

They engaged in quiet conversation as they sat upon a blanket Remington had carried up from the hull below while they enjoyed the taramasalata and dolmades Elena had put together for them. When the meal was complete and dishes packed back away in the basket, Laura had emerged from the hull carrying an armful of pillows. Repositioning the comforter next the rail underneath of his watchful gaze and raised brow, she tossed the pillows one by one against the edge and rail, creating a makeshift headboard.

"Well?" she asked, raising a brow of her own. The side of his mouth quirked upward.

"Ah, you wish me…" He waggled his finger at the impromptu bed.

"I do," she nodded.

"Planning to take advantage of me, Mrs. Steele?" he inquired with a waggle of his brows.

"That would imply you'd have to be coerced," she pointed out.

"Perhaps a bit of gentle persuasion then?" She strode over to him, giving her hips extra sway then ran a splayed hand down the length of his chest.

"I might be willing to do just that in a little while," she told him, adding a sultry layer to her voice, while her hand skimmed over his hip and gave his bum a squeeze.

"Well in that case, consider me at your mercy." Stretching his slim frame across the blanket, he propped his back against the pillows, his brows raising in surprise when Laura stretched out and lay her head in his lap. Whatever regrets he might have had that her mind was not on seduction quickly evaporated when she picked up one of his hands in hers, and began tracing the lines in his palm with her finger. He closed his eyes in contentment, while a hand slipped into her hair to wander. "You've no idea how much I've missed our time in the evening, love," he hummed.

"Life got away from us for a little bit," she acknowledged. Lifting his hand, she pressed lips to palm before looking up at him. "I think one of the benefits of our time together in the evenings is that it gives us an idea of where each of our heads are at, don't you think?" Her finger resumed tracing his palm.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in agreement, never opening his eyes.

"I thought we could take some time today to catch up. What do you think?" His hand stilled in her hair and he opened his eyes to peer down on her. He'd been partners with her for far too long not to know when Laura Holt had something specific on her mind.

"Do you have a particular topic in mind?"

"I do," she admitted.

"And that would be?" he inquired, praying his suspicions were wrong.

"You. What you went through while I was gone… since… last night." A stolen glance at his face caught a fleeting look of panic as he appeared to turn a little green around the gills.

"I'm fine, or at least I will be," he prevaricated. "I'd much prefer to discuss our plans for the next few days. I was thinking we might want to consider return—"

"Try again," she told him firmly. He let out an aggravated puff of air.

"Let it alone, Laura," he commanded tightly. On his lap her head moved side-to-side in refusal, then switching tactics she sat up and turned to face him.

"We have to get past this, Remington, and in order to do that, I not only _need_ to know, you need to tell me." She lay her hand against his chest. "Rem…"

He launched himself to his feet, rubbing at his face with a hand, staring at her, feeling like cornered prey. He spun around and with a shake of his head recognized he was exactly that. Unless he intended to dive into the water and swim for freedom, this was it. He made one, last desperate attempt to escape the net lowering around him.

"Laura, please, let it alone," he all but pleaded. Pushing herself to her feet, she crossed the deck to him then tentatively reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair on each side of his head.

"I _can't_ ," she told him quietly. "I can't pretend not to see what this is doing to you. I can't pretend that you're not having nightmares. I can't stand by and watch you hurting any more than you could me. _Tell me."_ He bent his head to touch his forehead to hers, releasing a quaking breath. "Tell me about the pictures." He shuddered and jerked away from her touch, beginning to pace. With a swipe of his hand through his hair, he looked at her.

"Which pictures?" he asked wearily. "The ones at the loft or those he sent me?" Her eyes widened at the second, but she kept her emotions reined in.

"Both." His chest heaved with emotion, reminding her of those final moments before a panic attack would consume her. She resisted the impulse to call it all off, to let him return to old habits if only to spare him this. _Our,_ she reminded herself mentally, _Our old habits. One escaping when it became difficult, the other allowing it. So easy. Too easy. Retreat, retreat, retreat. And how much did it cost us?_ With that in mind, as difficult as it was, she stood her ground and waited. Remington shoved his hands in his pockets, and averted his head from her.

"You and I around LA, myself with Astrid Covington…" With a shake of his head and a swipe of his mouth, he forced himself to look at her. "…You and I in the casino in Cannes…" he floundered and forced out almost painfully, "… you and I in the hammock; after we'd made love on the beach…" he swore under his breath "… as we made love here on this very boat." He watched as Laura flinched but somehow managed to keep her icy calm demeanor.

"And the pictures he sent you?" she asked placidly, even as her heart hammered. He looked away again.

"You, lying in the backseat of a car… unconscious… bruised… bleeding." She nodded slowly.

"That must have been difficult for—"

"Difficult?" he barked the question, then with a sweep of hand through hair laughed sarcastically. "Which part, precisely? You, injured, God knows where and not know what was happening to you at the hands of the sodding lunatic? Or perhaps you refer to the pictures of us. Is it difficult knowing that… that… that… that bastard watched as we made love … was audience to one of the most meaningful moments of my life…" his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly, "… that he saw _you in all your glory and took pictures of you_!? Difficult? Bloody well gutted, that's what I was and still am!"

"Remington—" He spun away from her, pacing around the limited area of the bow.

"No! You wanted to know!" he nearly shouted, then taking a deep breath, quieted. "Have you any idea what it was like to arrive at the flat and find you gone? To see… to see _your blood_ on the mirror and door, having not a clue how injured you might be? To see those photos, to read Roselli's little message to me?" Her hand fluttered upwards towards her brow but by sheer will she dropped it again.

"What message?" she asked softly. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory before rubbing at his mouth and landing haunted eyes on her.

"'She's mine now, Steele,'" he bit out. The words still made him break out in a cold sweat. She was completely torn by now. Go to him and offer the calming touch she knew he needed, but would likely shut the floodgates? Or to push forward, wounding him further with the memories, but freeing him from Roselli's grip once and for all? She mentally shook her head, as there was only one choice that could be made.

"How did you figure out where he was taking me?" He leaned his backside heavily against the railing, some of the tension draining from him with a tremor. This, at least, was easier ground.

"Descoines. After the first time he appeared in our lives, you told me you knew where to find me because of something Jarvis had said to you. 'They always go back to where it started,' or something along those lines. Manzanillo fit. It was not only where he met you, but the area surrounding it was remote, known to him. He'd know where best to seclude you." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck before shoving both hands into his pockets again, his tension once more starting to rise. "You've no idea how bloody relieved I was when your first message arrived. To know that I'd been correct, rather than finding myself possibly half a continent away from where he'd taken you."

"And the cabin? How did you find it?"

"Roselli's former paramour. One of her Malvado cousins had a general idea where it was located. For a price, it was agreed he'd provide that information." His pacing began anew.

"What is it?" she asked quietly. His face contorted at the memory.

"She's dead, Laura. The bastard killed her." She watched as the strain settled around his eyes, his jaw twitching, he was clenching it so hard and knew they were approaching more memories he was loathe to confront. But to his credit, he forged on. "Thankfully, her cousin's grief over her murder was only exceeded by his greed. Once we knew the general area, I contacted RJ Stonewall, imposed upon her for a few pilots, whirlybirds. They found his car in fairly short order, the cabin the next morning." The pacing started anew, more frantic than before.

"Tell me, Remington," she said simply. He threw her a pained look over his shoulder, then scrubbed hard at his face both hands.

"We'd just been dropped near the cabin," he sucked in a deep, harsh breath. "Could… hear you … screaming." His voice broke and he looked at her desperately. "I can't do this, Laura." This time, she did go to him, threading her fingers through his hair and drawing his head down to her shoulder. His entire body shook as his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"Tell me," she told him firmly, pressing a hand against the back of his neck, the other feathering over the length of his back. His breathing grew ragged.

"Hours, babe. For hours you wouldn't wake, all the while the doctor extoling an ever growing list of your injuries…" his hands clenched at her back, trying to bring her closer "… a one in three chance you could… you could… die... if the sepsis continued to progress." A guttural moan ripped from his throat and he forced it back, breaking free from the embrace he moved to stand next to the rail, looking out over the water, as his hand stroked mercilessly through his hair.

"When I left Greece as a child, I departed knowing, absolutely, two things. First, if Marcos could watch all that he'd ever worked for go up in flames only to create a new dream for himself, I could as well. And, secondly, I was not meant to have what everyone else did: a home, a family, a place where I truly belonged." He nodded his head and gave his shoulders a little shrug. Without realizing it, he lifted his hand a chewed at a thumbnail around the words he spoke. "Understanding those things made the days ahead much… easier… somehow. While I didn't have the means to change the path my life was taking for years, knowing that change is absolute provided some solace. Eventually, of course, Daniel pulled me from the streets, taught me a trade…" he looked over his shoulder at her with a rueful grin "…which eventually provided the means. After that, when life turned upside down, I simply created a new life, much as Marcos did. With a little money tucked away and Daniel's grooming, the possibilities of who I could become next were nearly endless."

He looked back towards Laura again, to see if she was still listening. She'd absorbed every word, resisting the impulse to comment, to make even a noise. Even after four months of marriage, it was rare that he spoke of the past so openly and she was held in rapt attention. Without a word he crossed the bow to her, taking a hand in his.

"Would you mind…" he flicked his head back to the makeshift bed. She cocked her head and gave him a look of surprise.

"Of course not," she told him quietly. She waited until he settled in, then lay down with her head in his lap, immediately taking possession of his hand. More than a minute passed before he found the words and spoke again.

"Laura, do you remember the conversation we had in your bedroom during the Baron case?" Her hand paused, as she dug that time up out of memory.

* * *

" _ **If Lila has done something desperate, I think I'd understand it. That meat line at Julian's would drive any woman to distraction."**_

 _ **"From sore feet?"**_

 _ **"Sore hearts. Sore souls. Man is seen as many things. Doer, thinker. Woman? Bottom line? Flesh. Nobody told you what to be when you grew up. You're a man. You smoke cigars. They used to come by the office in droves. 'Steal away with me, Laura.' 'How's Palm Springs sound, Laura?' But handle a case? 'Better let Mr. Steele do that, Laura.'"**_

 _ **"But you didn't, did you, thank the Lord. Or we'd both be scrounging for the rent. No one's ever going to treat you as just flesh. Flesh, yes. But never- JUST flesh."**_

* * *

"I do," she acknowledged.

"I was young, Laura, very young, the first time I had sex. I was a few weeks shy of my fourteenth, and had been living on the streets for the better part of fifteen months by then. Once again I found myself living in abandoned buildings, sleeping in alleys or doorways to shops. Movie theaters, when I managed to pick a pocket with enough blunt to afford the ticket. Food was even more scarce than a decent place to sleep. There were times I would go without for days, until out of sheer desperation I would forage through the garbage cans outside of a restaurant, looking for anything at all to put on my stomach…" A flush stole across his skin, mortified that he had voluntarily shared the last.

Her finger never faltered, tracing the lines in his hand even as her heart stumbled at the thought of him as a child, once more alone in the world and trying to survive. "Go on," she urged, speaking so softly that she could barely be heard. His fingers found her hair and picking up a strand he rolled it between fingers and thumb, finding comfort in its familiar texture.

"I looked… older… than my age, I suppose, given my height, my demeanor from too long on the streets…" He struggled to find the next words. Shaking his head, he could only pose it as a question. "Can you imagine what I looked like then?"

Closing her eyes, she tried to envision him then. Those bright blue eyes, his sleek black hair, the jaw, his frame. "I can."

"I drew a lot of attention, from girls living on the streets, girls from the local parochial school determined to rebel… to men with… predilections… I'd prefer not to dwell on at length. Pimps. I'd reached the point where out of… desperation… I'd begun to consider doing what the others on the street had turned to…"

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, hard, at the stab of pain that shot through her heart. The idea of him bartering his body for survival? She knew how much damage it would have done his gentle heart. Her finger never faltered, and she found the wherewithal to answer in a steady voice. "I can understand that."

"It never quite came to that, although looking back, I suppose in a manner of speaking it did. I'd met a lass, from one of those nearby parochial schools. She was older than I… sixteen, seventeen, I'd wager. We spoke several times on the street, mostly about the movies. Then one night she took me home, sneaking me in through her bedroom window. Using the few quid I had, I bought a pack of condoms, knowing well what was on her mind, and not adverse myself, curious as I was. It was… nice… enjoyable even. She found… her pleasure… and at the same time, had thumbed her nose to all the conventions, sating her. I, in turn, had a bed in which to sleep that night, food to eat, that she'd brought to the room under the guise of having missed supper that evening."

He steeled himself, forced himself to look down at her, waited for her to lift her adored brown eyes to his where he would find the condemnation, the shame, he'd hoped never to see there. When at last she looked at him, he was stunned to see only understanding and injury, for him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard at his relief.

"She must have said something to her friends, for shortly thereafter, I found myself a place to sleep more nights than not. They…and I… had a good time, each of us walking away with something we wanted. Eventually, I began bedding older women as well, at least in my eyes, as they were in their twenties, a couple in their early thirties. With… the considerable… experience… I was gaining between the sheets, I suppose, I became a conquest in some ways. Girls and women alike trading gossip and in turn, someone else would be… determined… to test… my skills." Taking his hand from hers, he lifted both hands to his face and scrubbed at it. Haunted eyes searched hers and still found no condemnation.

Her heart ached at the look on his face: the shame, the guilt, the worry. Bringing his hand up to her mouth, she pressed her lips into his palm, all the while looking at him.

"I never, not once, exchanged sex for money. It was of mutual benefit for both myself and whomever I was with at the time. I made certain they found their…" he stumbled, and looked upwards towards the cerulean skies, "… pleasure, before I allowed my own. When I'd leave, they'd be sated, content even, while I found a safe night's rest. By the time Daniel found me, I'd lost count of the number of girls, women, that I'd bedded, though you can imagine the number was fairly high." Her only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

"After Daniel pulled me from the streets, my… carousing… didn't end. But, then, I no longer needed a warm bed at a night, either. I'd slip out before the dawn and return to my own bed. A practice I continued until shortly after I arrived on your doorstep. I'd never made a promise, allowed the women I was with to believe I was after more than an enjoyable evening. If a woman made it clear she was seeking more… something lasting… some form of commitment… future, I said my adieus before we ever crossed the threshold." He gently nudged her chin up with a finger until their eyes connected. "That, of course, all changed the day I met you." She held silent as she reached up and brushed her fingers over his cheek then relaxed against his lap again, this time tangling her fingers with his. Her other hand reached for his ring to toy with it.

"I allowed myself to start thinking of the possibilities: A life with one woman, the woman that had captivated me from the moment we met." She felt his body stiffening beneath hers, his tension building again, telling her whatever point he had in mind was near at hand. "I discontinued my liaisons, living like a veritable monk for years, all in the hopes of what we might one day have. I'd broken my own rule not to wish for what I was unentitled to from the moment of my birth." Nudging her up, he slipped from underneath of her to pace once more.

"Difficult?" he said returning to her initial description of what he'd been through. "Difficult was those months after we returned from Vail. Spending the weekends with you sleeping next to me, only to find myself alone, missing you and struggling to find sleep during the week. Difficult was wanting every night with you, and believing if I said as much, you might rescind those two brief days that you'd allowed." He swiped at his hair, continuing to pace, as he searched for the words.

"For nearly four months, I'd slept every night with you in my embrace, inordinately pleased that when we weren't touching in some form or fashion, as rare as that was, that you'd search for me even as you slept." He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fists. "Then you were gone. The thought of not getting you back…" his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Only so that when we found you, I could be told I might face a one-in-three chance of losing you for good." He spun to face her. "One-in-three, Laura. Not one-in-a-thousand or one-in-a-million, one-in- _three_." He scrubbed at his face with both hands. When he dropped his hands, she was so stunned by the anger burning white hot in his eyes, that she surged to her feet.

"You're angry with me." She called him on the emotion before he'd have a chance to hide it. That he didn't even make an attempt send a shiver of trepidation racing down her spine. Crossing her arms in front of her, she rubbed at them.

"You're damned right I'm angry with you!" he yelled. She took a step backward involuntarily. "Four days you were missing. Four days of unending hell, then for nearly a week after I stood by helplessly watching as the toll of those days buckled you at your knees. We'd barely turned that corner, when you do the one thing, _the one thing I've ever asked – no, bloody well begged – that you not do_ : You offer yourself up for bait!" He spat the last words at her, flicking an arm in her direction before turning his back on her.

"And what came of it, eh? Yet again, you volunteer yourself up even as I tell you not to!" Her own temper flashed red hot at the accusation.

"Well, I wasn't going to just stand by and let him shoot you!" she shot back. He spun back around to face her.

"Yet you had no problem yelling at the lunatic to shoot _you_! _My God…"_ He flung out an arm in aggravation at her, and showed her his back once more. She stilled at the accusation, her anger diffusing to be replaced with guilt.

"You heard that?" she asked, voice barely a whisper. The way his hand shook as he swiped it through his hair but remained silent said that he had. He leaned heavily against the rails as the reality of what he must have felt hearing that made her reel. Crossing the deck, she slipped her slim form between the railing and Remington, grasping his face in her hands. While he didn't resist her, he didn't look at her either.

"It was a diversion, nothing more. As soon as the words left my mouth, I put my heel into his foot and ran." She gave his head a gentle nudge. "Look at me, Remington." She remained silent until strained blue eyes met hers. "I wasn't going to leave you again any more than I'd allow him to take you from me. I couldn't. I couldn't go through it again. The drugs, the hallucinations… the fear of believing I'd never see you again, that _you were gone._ I couldn't do it." He touched his forehead to hers, breath coming hard.

"In the matter of two weeks Laura, I lost you, could have lost you and nearly lost you." Palming the back of his neck, she drew his head down to her shoulder.

"You found me, didn't lose me and we ended it," she answered in turn. "We're okay." She shivered as his arms wrapped around her, tucking her close to him. "We're okay," she repeated. He inhaled heavily, concentrating on her scent.

"We seem to have a knack for attracting demented souls, Mrs. Steele," he murmured into her neck, his breath warming it as he exhaled slowly. She nodded in agreement.

"I agree. But by my count the score stands at demented souls zero, us five," she pondered aloud.

"With one more still out there running about," he reminded her. She frowned at the thought.

"We have time to worry about _that_ once we're back in LA," she mused, then nudged his head back from her shoulder so their eyes could meet. "Right now, I want to concentrate on _you_." She pressed up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss against his cheek. "Give me five minutes then come down."

Remington watched as Laura crossed the bow then descended into the cabin below. Blowing out a breath, he turned to lean against the railing, staring out over the water. He wondered if these conversations of theirs would ever come any easier to him. For a man that had spent most of his life leaving when things turned topsy-turvy, to suddenly find himself confronting them head on? On one hand he understood it was precisely these conversations – the openness, the honesty – that had allowed him and Laura to move ahead, had made it possible for them to come out of their farce of a wedding on the tuna boat, intact. On the other hand, they simply left him exhausted and vulnerable. Glancing at his watch, he heaved out a heavy breath, then with a swipe of his hand through his hair, went to join Laura in the cabin.

He stilled midway down the stairs, then continued slowly downwards. For the first time since the beginning of their talk, a real smile lit his face and eyes. Beeswax candles were scattered around, their light and scent casting a warmth across the space. Music played softly in the background. Before him stood his wife, her back to him as she poured two glasses of wine, attired in only a t-shirt that barely covered her sexy little bottom. Turning to face him, she handed him a glass.

"Strip down, sweetheart," she directed, skimming her eyes down his lean frame. "And I do mean, _all_ the way down." He raised his brows as he stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the bed.

"Why, Mrs. Steele, it sounds as though you have something positively lascivious in mind." She watched as his shirt was tossed aside and he started skimming off his jeans. _It's hard not to have carnal thoughts all the time when you're married to such a prime specimen of a man,_ she thought to herself with a silent snort.

"Maybe later, big guy. Right now, stretch out on your stomach," she instructed, as his briefs hit the floor. _Damn near impossible,_ she corrected herself. Reining in her rampaging hormones, she waited for him to lie prone, then, straddling him, perched herself on his bare bum. She fought the urge to squirm. Beneath her, he chuckled, realizing her predicament.

"Or perhaps sooner, eh?" he teased.

"Need I remind you, Mr. Steele, that I managed to control my… um… desires for the better part of four years?" Remington grimaced at the reminder as she reached for the lotion she'd laid on the bed.

"Believe me, Mrs. Steele, no reminders are necessary. That memory remains painfully fresh, and I do stress _painfully_." She leaned forward and touched her lips to the back of his neck grinning at the goosebumps that spread across his skin. Settling her hands on his shoulders she began to knead, drawing a contented sigh from him. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"It occurred to me in the _wee hours_ of the morning that I've been so wrapped up in what happened to me that I'd never even asked what you were going through," she answered honestly. He tried to push up on his elbows to turn and look at her but she nudged him back down.

"Good Lord, Laura, I don't begrudge you that. You were the one taken, you—"

"And you were the one who saw the loft, the apartment, received the pictures… found Conchita. Roselli put both of us through hell, even if our experiences were different. Had I been paying attention, I would have noticed sooner that you weren't dealing with what happened to you any better than I was dealing with what happened to me."

"I'm fine. At least I will be," he insisted.

"Our conversation above, the tension around your eyes, in your shoulders… the nightmare last night, all say otherwise." She pressed another kiss to his back, then continued the massage downwards, feeling his body relaxing under her touch. "How much sleep have you gotten since that day?" The silence that followed was answer enough. "I thought so. Which is why," her lips whispered against the small of his back, making him hum, "the boat is ours until we're expected for dinner with the family tomorrow night."

"You wouldn't be toyin' with a man in my condition, would you?" he asked teasingly, his Gaelic brogue beginning to show through his words as the tension began to let loose and sleep began chasing him.

"Not at all," she assured him, feathering her fingers up his back then burying them into his hair, caressing his scalp.

He hummed low and deep, a hand reaching for and finding hers. With a gentle tug, she left his back and stretched out alongside of him. She in turned nudged him down the bed a bit, until he lay on his stomach, arm wrapped around her, his head resting just below the valley of her breasts. He breathed in her scent, humming when her fingers found his hair and scalp again, nuzzling his whiskers against her stomach. She rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair at his muffled laugh when he felt her squirm beneath him.

"I do believe I could get used to this, Mrs. Steele," he mumbled against her stomach. She smiled, as she was just thinking the same. It was a new, different way to keep one another close. It was… _nice._

"I don't think that's a bad idea at all, Mr. Steele." And hand stroked his cheek. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. We'll play when you get up."

Humming deep in his throat, he dozed.

* * *

Somewhere through the tensions of the last month, Laura had forgotten that a well-rested and relaxed Remington was a randy and mischievous Remington. She woke to find her t-shirt shoved up around her neck, a very attentive mouth covering a breast, and the fingers of a hand plucking at the puckered peak of the other. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire. Already panting, a hand found his head and applied pressure, moaning with approval when he drew her nipple up hard into his mouth. Suddenly releasing her from his mouth, he tipped his head to look at her, blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What?" she asked, instantly wary. His smile only grew, as he pushed himself up on his arms then climbed out of bed. "Where are you going?!" she asked, irritated. He'd gotten her primed and ready and wasn't planning on taking her to the finish line? He leaned over the bed and swept her up in his arms. "What are you doing?" she asked, trying to push herself out of his arms. He leaned down and captured her lips with his, kissing her voraciously. As distractions went, it was lovely.

Until the late afternoon sun kissed her skin. Eyes flying open, she tore her lips away from his.

"Remington, what are you doing?" she demanded to know, alarm bells sounding in her head. Setting her on her feet, he skimmed off her t-shirt.

"Have you ever gone skinny dipping in the Aegean on an autumn afternoon, love? I assure you it's an experience that shouldn't be missed." His lips skimmed the column of her throat, sufficiently distracting her again long enough for him to make her panties disappear. Her eyes shifted to peer dubiously at the water.

"In November? Uh, wouldn't the water be a bit cold for that?"

"Mmmm mmmm," he disagreed, suckling at the base of her throat, "Tepid bath water." His eyes lifted to hers, a brow raising in challenge. "Afraid, Miss Holt?" Her eyes narrowed and her chin tipped up, the defiance lighting her eyes thrilling him to his toes.

"Not on your life," she answered walking toward the edge of the bow. Flashing him an impish look, she dove into the water below. Quicker than a flash he followed behind.

They frolicked in the blue waters, pausing often to kiss, to stroke, igniting the flame that was always between them into a raging inferno. They made slow, sweet love during twilight and throughout the night ahead, pausing only to fuel their body with light meals from the galley. The trigona panoramatos picked up in the village two days before and stashed in the galley earlier in the day added a creative twist to their final round of lovemaking on the night, as designs were painted with custard on a petite frame, then cleaned off in the most enticing of ways before a long, lean frame was treated to the same, leaving a pair of elegant hands grasping almost desperately at blankets, pillows and ground as pleasure consumed.

They slept the sleep of the exhausted, of the well-loved, not waking until the mid-morning sun rose to nearly three-quarters of the way in the azure skies. The cooler morning breeze inspired the young couple to seek warmth in one another's bodies as they tucked the comforter firmly around them. Remington lifted his head then tipped it down, his mouth hovering near Laura's ear.

"Thank you," he whispered. Reaching back, she lay her fingertips on his cheek.

"For what?"

"For this last day." He lifted her hand from his cheek and brushed his lips over her knuckles. She wiggled around to face him, returning her hand to his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. His breath caught in his throat when she lifted warm brown eyes to his.

"Thank you," she told him in a voice as quiet as his own.

"For what?" he asked the same as she had moments before.

"For finding me." Tilting her head up, she tapped her lips against his. Pulling her snug against him, he nuzzled his chin on top of her head and laughed softly.

"Ah, Laura, you speak as though I had any choice _but_ to find you." She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly.

"I'm ready to go home, Mr. Steele." He bussed the top of her head.

"So am I, Mrs. Steele, so am I."


	44. Epilogue

Epilogue

Anthony Roselli was transferred to Korydallos Prison in Athens where he would be detained until trial on any number of charges ranging from break and entering and assault to kidnapping and attempted murder. Roselli's trial took place swiftly and on June 23, 1987, Remington and Laura watched as Roselli was sentenced to twenty years for his crimes against them in Greece. As he was led away in shackles, Roselli turned to the Steele's, giving them a cocky little smirk, believing he had once again beaten the system. After all, Mexico was pushing for his extradition there, and a Greek prison was certainly preferable to the bowels of Mexican jails. At least that was what he believed and he couldn't have been more mistaken. Severe overpopulation meant six to ten men were living in close confines in a cell meant to hold no more than two. Warring gangs comprised of members of opposing juntas kept the prison at unrest. Guard brutality was routine. And, when various factions within the prison became aware that Roselli had committed numerous crimes against the son and daughter-in-law of Marcos Androkus – a man known for his generosity and in giving men a second chance when released from prison – Roselli found himself spending each minute of every day with a target on his back. By the time the Greek authorities arranged for his transfer to Mexico in April of 2007, where he would face two counts of murder in the deaths of Norman Keyes and Conchita Guitierrez, a Mexican prison had become a welcome change in his mind.

The court in Mexico moved even more expediently than that in Greece. Within forty days of his feet touching Mexican soil, Roselli was extended an invitation to spend the remainder of his life behind bars. His hopes for kinder conditions disintegrated overnight. Numerous, former Malvados and relatives of the same were housed within the prison walls. While not a single one of those inmates cared about the demise of Norman Keyes, the memory of Conchita Guitierrez's gruesome death at Roselli's hands had not been forgotten. When Roselli died of dysentery in the winter of 2011 at the age of sixty, he welcomed death with open arms.

The irony that Roselli was to live out the remainder of his days in a Mexican prison, as Keyes and Roselli had intended Remington to do, was not lost on the Steele's. That thought, however, was fleeting. In April of 1987, after finally answering the question of "why" Roselli had targeted them long before they were even aware of the man's existence, they closed the book in their minds on the man. When they thought about Roselli at all in the years ahead he only served as a reminder that there was nothing their partnership – in both the boardroom and the bedroom – could not overcome.

When Laura and Remington boarded the Pan Am flight that would take them home on November 3, 1986, both had set Roselli aside in their minds. After all, there were much more pressing matters to attend to: their traditional champagne toast; an irritated Miss Holt to soothe after Remington made the unilateral announcement that their first order of business when arriving back in LA would be to make an appointment with the best orthopedist they could find; plans on once again bringing the Agency back up to speed after their long absence; a crossword puzzle to fuss playfully over; and, of course, a long nap, curled up with one another, as the plane traversed the Atlantic.

By the time the plane set down at LAX, their luggage had been claimed and customs had been navigated, they'd collapsed into the backseat of the limo. "Home, Fred," Remington directed their faithful chauffer, while giving Laura's hand a tug, and drawing her to his side. Neither of them could think past getting home, unpacking, eating a light dinner then crawling into bed. That is, until her dazed mind realized the passing landscape should not be what she was viewing out the limo windows. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her hand back and forth across her husband's chest.

"Fred seems determined to take the scenic route," she commented.

"Mmmmmm," he hummed in acknowledgment. "It's quite alright with me. I find I'm enjoying the company far too much to complain at the moment." Above her head, he smiled, anticipating her reaction to what lay in store for her in a few, brief miles.

Laura stretched herself fully awake when the car came to a complete stop and she heard the familiar sound of Fred's car door opening then closing. Opening her eyes, she blinked hard at the scene outside of the window, then blinked again. Outside the window of the limo their house in Holmby Hills sat before them.

"What are we doing here?" she asked Remington as he opened the car door then extracted himself out from under her. After gaining his feet, he turned and offered her a hand.

"You'll see," he answered enigmatically. Looking her husband over with open curiosity, she took his hand and alighted from the car. Her laughter carried in the air when, three short steps from the front door, he swept her up in his arms.

"What are you doing?"

"Merely trying to eradicate the regrettable memory of the first time I carried my new bride across the threshold of our home some six months back," he answered with raised brows before touching his lips to hers. Swinging the door open, he carried her through, smiling as she stilled in his arms, taking in the sight before her. When she turned to look at him, the amber eyes he adored were open wide and lit with joy.

"But how?" she inquired.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Steele."

* * *

 _ **A/N: There is still one more segment of this series to go, in which we finally find out the 'why' Roselli targeted the Steele's in the first place. But first, it is time to enjoy the upcoming holidays with a little light fare – Steele Thankful.**_

 _ **Additionally, I am going to finally start releasing some AU (Alternate Universe) stories that follow the course of Season 4 – incorporating the canon, but while recovering "deleted" scenes that go so far as to explain why so many of us described Season 4 as the "Season of Mr. and Mrs. Steele" – in other words, as often seem implied, Remington and Laura most certainly did 'cross the line between boardroom and bedroom.' Oh, and did I mention Season 5 never took place in this series**_


End file.
